


Half-Life VR but the AI Goes Camping

by YouthOfAntwerp



Category: Half-Life VR But The AI Is Self Aware
Genre: Anxiety, Camping, Canon-Typical Behavior, Depression, Existentialism, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Humor, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Road Trips, Scars, Short Chapters, Sunkist is a big perfect dog, Timeline Shenanigans
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-16 09:20:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 18,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29079987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YouthOfAntwerp/pseuds/YouthOfAntwerp
Summary: Gordon and the Science Team go camping. They hike. They discuss what it is to be human. An alien bullies Gordon. It’ll be fun.
Relationships: Benrey/Gordon Freeman
Comments: 97
Kudos: 99





	1. Shoebox

“Mammoth.”

The tinny quality of the phone call, paired with Tommy’s naturally childlike voice, made him sound like an educational toy. Crank the lever and watch the arrow spin ‘round the wheel of animals, kiddies. What’s a prehistoric mammal with tusks?

“Mammoth?” Gordon repeated huskily. He absently scratched the weeks’ worth of undergrowth on his neck. He was looking fairly prehistoric himself these days. “What’s in Mammoth?”

“Well, there’s mountains and trees and fresh air,” Tommy prattled on. From anyone else it might have come across as sarcastic. Not from Tommy, though. Never Tommy. It was nice to hear his earnestly sincere voice again.

It was nice to hear anyone’s voice.

As Tommy continued to list all the wonderful, mundane things to be found in Mammoth, Gordon glanced around the room. One table. One chair. The kitchen cabinets (which held one plate and one cup.) It had been three long, lonely months since he moved into the studio apartment. The place still felt no closer to being a home. It wasn’t all that different from his dorm in Black Mesa. If anything, the studio was an upgrade. A bathroom _and_ kitchen all to himself? Pinch him, he’s dreaming.

Still, in the back of his mind lurked that unsettling thought; Gordon didn’t choose this. The G-Man’s… superiors? Supervisors? Whatever he- _it-_ called them. They had shoved him here like a loaded gun into a shoebox and put him on the highest shelf in the closet until things “settled down.”

 _Wait for our word, stay out of the public eye_ were the last instructions he’d been given. Waiting was the most difficult part. Gordon had no issue with laying low. He supposed his placement by the G-Man’s employers made some sense. Stuff him into a densely populated area, he’s hidden in plain sight. Still… Of all the cities, of all the mudholes in the world, why Los Angeles?

Crowded, smoggy, sprawling, _loud_ Los Angeles.

Tommy was talking about Sunkist. She had never been camping before. He was excited to take her up there. Gordon could hear the smile in his voice and smiled himself. He tried to concentrate on Tommy’s words, tried not to the think about the sounds of blaring car horns outside, of two people screaming at each other on the street under his window, of the delivery man that had pulled up to the neighboring mercado and was slamming palettes onto the sidewalk. _Bang. Bang._

_Bang!_

“Gordon?”

“Huh?” Gordon reddened under a fresh sheen of sweat. “I’m so sorry, Tommy. What was the question?”

“Would you like to come with us?”

He was offering Gordon a chance to get out. To see a friendly face. Everything he’d been so desperately craving. That said, Gordon’s gut reaction to any situation was to pull back and assess, even before… everything. He reflected on his final instructions. Their curtness drove him crazy, but they also left little to be misunderstood. Gordon flexed his right hand. Tendons popped under the faint white scar that circled his wrist like a bracelet. Anything given to him could be taken away.

Gordon sighed. “That sounds nice, Tommy, but-”

“Umm.”

“What?”

“Well, I just thought that you might want to get away. With what’s coming up?”

Gordon paged through his mental calendar. His 28th birthday had come and gone (not that he had any strange feelings about his birthday.) No anniversaries, good or bad, loomed ahead either.

“What are you talking about?”

“July Fourth.”

It took him a moment to understand. When he did, Gordon’s stomach plummeted.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” Tommy’s one-word response was packed with misery.

The fireworks.

They were illegal in LA. But so was wiping out the entire United States military. Illegal meant jack shit.

Gordon rose from his creaky single bed and began to pace. He could barely handle weird city noises going 24/7. Actual explosions overhead---

Gordon twisted his panic into rage. Rage at the entities who had trapped him here. Who had a hand in the events that turned him into a skittery rabbit. Did you know that if a rabbit is scared bad enough, it can have a heart attack and _die of fright?_ Gordon did. Gordon had learned lots of fun facts about stress in three months.

Fuck them. Fuck this. Fuck it all.

But also… one might consider the woods to be “out of the public eye,” right?

“Well,” said Gordon. He was pleased to hear his voice sound strong and confident, despite his lingering fear. “Like Dr. Coomer says, ‘Nothing ventured, nothing gained!’”

“Dr. Coomer is coming, too!” blurted Tommy.

His joy was contagious. “That’s awesome!” Gordon beamed. “I miss that crazy bastard!”

“And Bubby said he’ll drive!”

Gordon laughed. “Not a chance.”

“And-! Umm, well, t-text me your address and we’ll pick you up on Friday.”

Gordon’s smile faltered. “Okay, Tommy. See you guys Friday.”

“Bye, Mr. Freeman!”

Gordon stared at his phone’s screen until it went dark. The black glass reflected his consternated expression. It sounded like Tommy was going to add something else but cut himself off.

Well, nothing to do but fixate on it until Friday.

Gordon and the Science Team. Going camping. It’ll be fun.

The whole gang back together.

The whole gang.


	2. Reunion

Gordon had expected something goofy to appear that Friday, like the Wienermobile. Instead, a yellow-wrapped hybrid sat at the curb outside of Gordon’s apartment building. It was a surprisingly practical choice of vehicle. Unusual color, though. Then Gordon noticed the license plate.

♥MNIONS

Ah. The whole car was customized to Tommy’s unique sensibilities. Apparently, it paid to be the son of an interdimensional bureaucrat.

Even with Tommy’s eyesore of a car behind them, there was no missing the eclectic crew waiting for Gordon.

Dr. Coomer cut a dashing figure in his lime-green guayabera shirt. Fists planted on his hips, the buttons strained across his broad chest. Holy shit, was Coomer _always_ built? He had made multiple references to boxing in the past, come to think of it. Gordon realized, embarrassingly, he’d kinda thought of the baggy, Black Mesa-issued labcoat as part of Coomer’s actual body.

“Ah! Hello, Gordon!”

“Hello, Dr. Coomer.” Gordon’s voice shook. Was he about to laugh? Cry? It could go either way, but both impulses were squeezed out of Gordon by a bone-crushing hug.

“And what am I, chopped liver?”

“Hello to you too, Bubby,” Gordon wheezed. He reached under Coomer’s arm to shake with Bubby. It was something of a challenge, since Coomer had pinned Gordon’s arms to his side.

Bubby had the most toned-down civilian look of the Science Team members. His outfit seemed better suited to a younger man’s wardrobe. A younger man who modeled in Milan.

“You _do_ know we’re going to the mountains, right?” said Gordon. He eyed Bubby’s immaculate silk shirt and camel jacket. The collars were, of course, popped.

“You _do_ know how to shut the fuck.”

“Please don’t fight! You promised to be nice.”

“Gordon started it, Tommy!”

Coomer released Gordon, only for him to be immediately scooped up again.

“Mr. Freeman! You’re real! You’re really, really real!”

Gordon laughed. “Why wouldn’t I be real, Tommy?”

Tommy pulled back with a sheepish grin. “I dunno. Sometimes, it seems like it was all a dream.”

Tommy was the perfect, visually-unpleasant match to his bright yellow car. From his baseball cap down to his hightops, he looked like a coloring book page that had been filled in with highlighters. Gordon made a conscious effort to tear his eyes from Tommy’s multicolored, 80’s fever dream of an outfit.

“I know what you mean. Before you reached out, I was starting to believe Black Mesa only ever existed in my head."

Tommy patted Gordon’s shoulders and smiled. His expression was warm, but those piercing white-blue eyes made the corners of Gordon’s mouth turn down. They reminded him too much of…

“Hey, didn’t the G-Man tell you guys to lay low? Stay inside, wait for instructions, that kind of thing?”

Tommy stepped back with a guilty look.

“Did he tell _you_ that?” asked Bubby.

“Well, yeah.”

“Then why did you agree to come with us?”

“I said fuck it.”

Bubby made a full body gesture. _There you go._

Gordon barked with laughter. “Wow, okay. We’re really doing this.” He was genuinely excited, in spite of the anxiety bubbling low in his gut. Or maybe that _was_ what excitement felt like and Gordon had forgotten. He hadn’t been on a road trip since his MIT days. “So, are we good to go? Need to pick up anything on the way?”

“Everything’s taken care of!” Tommy was back to his bubbly self. “It’s all packed in the trunk.”

Coomer stood up straighter like he’d been activated. “To craft ‘camping,’ you need the following items. A tent. At least two days of clothing. Food. A _knife!_ A small cactus---"

“Thank you, Dr. Coomer. The materials are in my inventory.” Gordon lifted the heavy nylon sleeve that held his tent and his duffle bag by their respective straps. “I’ll just put these with the rest of the stuff---”

Tommy suddenly jumped in his way, arms spread wide. “Oh n-no Mr. Freeman. I can take care of that. Why don’t… why don’t you take shotgun?”

Gordon knotted his brow. “Really?”

“Yeah! If I sit in the back, I can have Sunkist on my lap.”

“But if you’re in the back, then who’s driving?”

“I am!”

Gordon whipped around to see the car keys, jingling from a nest of cartoon character key chains, pinched in Bubby’s fingers. Oh. So Tommy wasn’t kidding.

Before anyone could challenge him, Bubby slid across the hood of the car to reach the driver’s side. It was a risky stunt for an older man, made all the more dangerous considering he was sliding into LA’s _morning rush._ Bubby had miraculously timed his move with a rare gap in traffic.

Gordon dropped his bags to clutch his head. “If you go one mile over the speed limit, I’m taking over!”

Bubby scoffed and slammed the door.

Another slam came from the rear of the car. Gordon noticed his bags were gone.

“Great! Now _everything’s_ packed!” Tommy called from the trunk. He wore a rictus smile.

“Adventure awaits!” Coomer wrenched open the rear door and lunged inside like a knight storming a castle.

Gordon smiled and shook his head. Here we go. He climbed into the shotgun seat.

Something wet pressed into his ear and deafened him with a blast of air.

 _“Fuck!”_ Gordon collided with the roof.

“Dr. Coomer, get that dog out of my cockpit!”

An enormous golden head poked through the space between the front seats. Sunkist panted and stared at Gordon with big, beguiling eyes, unaware she had nearly sent him to space.

Tommy entered the backseat from the street side. He held up a hand to protect his face from the happy cudgel of her tail. “Sunkist, sit! Good girl.”

Gordon patted the dog’s head as she pulled it back through the seats. “She’s looking… filled out.”

Tommy stopped, his hand halfway to buckling his seatbelt. He frowned at Gordon. “Sunkist is the perfect weight. She’s the _perfect dog.”_

“Oh no-no I meant that she looks, uh, fully-recovered. From her dog-napping.”

Tommy nodded pensively. “Yeah. It took a while. But she isn’t scared of French anymore.” He turned to Sunkist. “Bon-joo-er, shuh voo mon leev-ruh---”

She silenced him with a tongue the width of Gordon’s hand.

The first and last time Gordon saw Sunkist, she looked flat. Literally flat. The dog did not have a third dimension. She zipped around like a flying cardboard standee. He hadn’t imagined that, right?

She didn’t seem to have lost any height. By all other indicators, Sunkist appeared to be a purebred Golden Retriever, though she was closer in size to a… Well… A grizzly bear.

Gordon hoped Tommy packed enough dog food.

“So, what’s the snack situation here? Something salty, something sweet?”

Tommy threaded his arm through the space Sunkist’s head had occupied so he could point. “Yeah! They’re in the glovebox.”

“Sweet!”

Gordon popped the latch.

Boxes upon boxes of orange TicTacs spilled into his lap.

“Snacks!” said Dr. Coomer.

This was going to be a long six hours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bauulp totally called me out during the commentary stream when he said he had a drawer full of TicTacs as a kid. Mine were all orange because they’re the chewiest.


	3. Road Trip

Route 395 carved through desert landscape like the path of a buzz saw. The miles and miles of perfectly straight asphalt, surrounded by miles and miles of scrub-studded sand, could make anyone’s eyes start to cross. Gordon took comfort in the view. South-eastern California reminded him of New Mexico. Though it wasn’t his home state, New Mexico had been his home, however briefly. The cacti that whipped past his window in 80mph streaks made him feel nostalgic.

Each time they passed a roadside stand that advertised PICCOLO PETES and AMERICA’S GLORY on their spiky red-and-yellow signs, he set his jaw. _No, no. Happy thoughts, Gordon. You’re not running from something. You’re going somewhere to have fun._

Fun, fun, fun. Gordon repeated the mantra as Bubby started “Fly Me To The Moon” for the fifth time.

“You know, usually on a road trip, someone in the _back_ has aux duty so the driver can focus on the road.” Gordon did well to keep his voice neutral, as if he was just listing an interesting fact.

“Hmm,” was all Bubby said.

Gordon needed allies in this cold war. He twisted around in his seat. “Hey Tommy. You wanna pick the music for the next hour?”

“Huh?” Tommy looked up from the book in his lap. His face was slack, like he’d been woken from a deep dream. His free hand idly tangled itself in Sunkist’s fur as she slept between him and Coomer. It took a second for Tommy’s brain to catch up to what Gordon asked. “No thank you, Mr. Freeman. Whatever you choose is fine.”

“Uh, okay... Dr. Coomer?”

“I’d be delighted, Gordon!” As the song concluded, they swapped phones on the center console. Coomer plugged in the aux chord and made a selection.

Frank Sinatra crooned through the stereo for the sixth time.

Gordon’s soul left his body in a drawn-out moan. “Whhhyyyyyy...”

“I heard that Bubby likes this song!”

“Bubby does!” said Bubby. He shimmied in his seat.

A heavy thud came from the trunk.

Gordon sat bolt upright. “What was that?”

“What was what?”

“It shook the whole car. Did we hit something?”

“I would never!” Bubby scoffed.

“How would you know?! You’re going 90, by the time you realized there was something in the road, it’d be red skid mark half a mile behind you!”

“Well, let’s see, Gordon. If Bubby is traveling at 90 miles an hour and images travel from the eye to the brain in 13 milliseconds, factor in the speed of light and that Bubby wears glasses, then the remains of his hit-and-run victim would be approximately---"

“Thank you, Dr. Coomer. Not the point I was trying to make.” Gordon took a deep, cleansing breath. “We should pull over and check.”

Tommy snapped his book shut. Sunkist woke with a startled _woof._ “N-no, it’s probably fine. We want to make camp before the sun sets, right?”

“Right!” said Bubby. He goosed the gas pedal. Gordon’s hum of concern harmonized with the car’s engine.

The song ended and Coomer immediately started it again.

_Bang!_

“There!! There it is again!” Gordon squawked.

“How curious. It seems that every time I play Bubby’s song, something strikes the car!”

Tommy stared at Coomer with saucer eyes. All color had left his face.

Pieces began clicking into place in Gordon Freeman's mind. Tommy’s abrupt ending of the phone call used to plan this trip, his weirdness with the bags...

“Tommy,” Gordon said slowly. “What is in the trunk?”

“Huh?!” Flop sweat immediately sprung from Tommy’s forehead. “Just, the, uh, the bags.”

Gordon’s hypothesis was coalescing into a theory. Even if the conclusion was an extremely unfavorable one, a scientist must embrace the data. “Pull over,” he told Bubby.

“You’re not the boss of---"

“PULL OVER.”

To his credit, Bubby did so in a safe manner. As soon as they rolled to a stop on the gravel shoulder, Gordon jumped out and ran to the back of the car.

Tommy was close behind, but not close enough. He reached out a hand. “Mr. Freeman, wait---!”

Gordon popped the trunk.

“Oh, yo,” spoke the shadows within. “What up, Feetman?”


	4. Pit Stop

“Why was Benrey in the trunk?”

“Because he didn’t fit on the roof, Gordon.”

Of all the places to have a mental breakdown, this roadside greasy spoon was not the worst choice. It had shady patio seating so Sunkist could join them. Their hostess had even set down a water bowl for the dog, though next to Sunkist it was more of a teacup.

“Why is Benrey _here_?” Gordon thrust an accusing finger across the table.

Benrey leaned back in the chair opposite Gordon, arms crossed. He blinked once slowly like a cat. “Why are _you_ here?”

“Because I was invited!”

“So was I.”

Gordon wondered how Benrey wasn't getting heatstroke from the thick gray beanie yanked down to his eyebrows or the XXL blue pullover he wore. Then again, those were silly issues to take up with someone who had survived a thousand-rounds-per-minute to the face. Multiple times.

“You guys are cool with this.” Gordon looked around the table in disbelief. Betrayers. Betrayers all around him.

“It’s good to see a familiar face on the dusty trail,” said Coomer, again. He’d been repeating it from the moment Gordon opened the trunk. Either he was busted, or trying to dispel the group tension with his typical bullish approach.

“The last time we saw this face, it was the size of a billboard and _trying to kill us!!”_

“Can I get you guys something?”

Gordon jumped. A waitress approached their table like they were a pack of wild animals. He flushed with embarrassment, suddenly aware of the scene he was making. “I’m so sorry. N-nothing, thank you.”

“I’ll have a soda,” said Tommy.

“Uh, we have Coke, Sprite, Fanta… Any one of those?”

Tommy nodded. “Yes.”

“And two senior specials, please,” said Bubby, after glancing at Coomer. Coomer stared straight ahead.

“Make it three.” Benrey locked eyes with Gordon.

"Oh is that a crack at me? Because I’m almost thirty?”

“Huh? No. I’m, like, four billion years old. Respect your elders.”

The waitress nervously laughed. “Okay, so, _any_ soda and two senior specials. You got it.”

Benrey frowned after her as she retreated. “Wasn’t a joke…”

Gordon leaned forward in a way that was partly conspiratorial, mostly desperate. “Bubby, Coomer, back me up on this. We travelled through space and time, killed multiple versions of you both, all so we could stop Benrey from invading Earth! So?!”

Bubby shrugged. “So clearly it didn’t work.”

“Dr. Coomer?”

“It’s good to see a familiar face on the dusty trail.”

The waitress dropped off Tommy’s soda and a paper-wrapped straw. Benrey snatched the straw, fist closing around it.

“Hey, check this out.”

Benrey slammed his hand into the table, making everyone jump. He pulled the crumpled wrapper from the straw. Benrey then used the straw to extract a small droplet from Tommy’s glass and tapped it onto the wrapper. It writhed like a sleepy worm.

“Yo, it’s uh- _liiiive_ , haha.”

Gordon leaned forward. “I thought you were dead,” he hissed.

Benrey smacked his lips but did not look up. He continued to feed tiny sips of soda to his lame party trick. “Well. You know what they say about assuming.”

“I— I didn’t say I _assumed_ , I said I _thought_ —”

“Makes an ‘ass’ outta you and—”

“Mr. Freeman, isn’t it incredible?” Tommy’s smile squirmed across his anxious face like the paper worm. “Benrey was outside the Chuck E. Cheese. You know, where I had my birthday? I found him after the party. But he looked different then…”

“Had to do a hard reset.” Benrey spared Gordon a pointed look. “Details took longer to load in.”

“And what does that mean?”

“He was a skeleton,” said Tommy.

Gordon raked his hands down the sides of his face. “You mean to tell me. There was a skeleton standing outside a restaurant in broad daylight. And nobody else saw it?”

“My dad says Chuck E. Cheese is more of an—”

“Do NOT start.”

“Maybe I didn’t want to be seen.” Benrey addressed the growing puddle of soda in front of him. The straw wrapper was completely saturated and no longer wiggling. He continued to add liquid. “Maybe my feelings were hurt.”

“Your feelings,” Gordon scoffed. “Did anybody consider how I would feel about this?” Gordon brandished his scarred wrist. “I. _Hate._ You. You made me suffer, Benrey.”

“It’s good to see a familiar face on the dusty trail.”

“M-Mr. Freeman, p-please don’t be mad.” Tommy’s voice was high and hysterical. “I-I-I was afraid i-if I told you, you wouldn’t come with us!”

“You’re right, Tommy. I wouldn’t have.”

A heavy silence settled over the table. The screech of a chair’s legs over concrete pierced it. “Gordon,” said Coomer, “might I have a word?”


	5. Powwow

Gordon paced back and forth at the edge of the restaurant patio. Coomer tracked his movements with an eerie fluidity, as if his neck was on a servo.

Blood thundered in Gordon’s ears. He could barely hear the arguments Coomer was making. “How can you say, _‘forgive Benrey?!’_ Just like that.” Gordon seized his right forearm with his left hand, just below the scar. “He sold me out to the Army and they cut. Off. My. _Hand._ Oh, beat me first, can’t forget that. It was the most painful fucking experience of my life. Or don’t you remember?”

“As I recall,” said Coomer, “Bubby also sold you out. But you forgave him.”

Gordon opened and closed his mouth several times before he could form a response. “That... that was different.”

“It was?”

“I _had_ to forgive Bubby! We needed all of us working together to get to the Lambda lab and stop Benrey.”

“I see. So you two were able to settle your differences through the shared trials and tribulations of an adventure.” Coomer suddenly brightened. “Ah, Gordon! Did you know that we’re on an adventure right now?”

Gordon ground the heel of his hand into his forehead, trying to relieve the pressure therein. It did not. “Coomer... do you think I like being angry all the time? I want to move on, but I can’t. It’s like… I was irradiated with fear for so long, it’s changed my DNA. I wish I could forget everything that happened. More than anything.”

“And forget us, as well?”

Gordon looked up in shock. “No! I...”

Over Coomer’s shoulder, Gordon could see a small glimpse of their table. Bubby said something which was too far away to hear, but it made Benrey laugh. Tommy diligently mopped up the mess in front of Benrey with a wad of napkins.

“DNA changes all the time, Gordon,” said Coomer. “Through exposure to a variety of environmental factors, mutations occur. Some of them can even be beneficial to the organism. But this is basic science. Something that should have been covered in your studies at MIT.”

Gordon exhaled through his nose, trying to hide his smile.

“Now, don’t let this color your decision but… We will still go up the mountain - Bubby, Tommy, Benrey, and I - if you do leave. I just don’t think it will be as fun. There is no Science Team without Gordon Freeman.”

Gordon turned his face away. Movement from within the restaurant caught his attention.

The windows of the main dining area faced onto the patio, and through them Gordon could see two waitresses talking animatedly. The one Gordon recognized pointed at their party. His immediate thought was, _oh my God, they know, they know a shape-shifting space monster is sitting with us._ But of course that was ridiculous. Benrey looked like a regular, albeit pasty, guy. Gordon was the only person who could see Benrey for what he really was (apparently.)

Then Gordon saw that she was pointing at Sunkist. The other waitress took out her phone for a picture. Seems the dog’s unusual size had not gone unnoticed by the staff.

Gordon nodded distractedly. “Yeah… okay. We should get back to the table.”

Coomer punched Gordon in the chest.

Stumbling back, Gordon wheezed, “What the hell was that?!”

“I patted you on the shoulder.”

“No, you did not!”

“Sorry, Gordon. The only interface I have with the world is violence.”

By the time Gordon returned to the table, Tommy had reclaimed his soda and Benrey was stacking coffee creamer pods into a pyramid. Bubby picked at the plate in front of him. A second one waited for Coomer.

Tommy looked up at Gordon like a scolded dog. “Are you going home, Mr. Freeman?”

“I guess...” Gordon sighed and gestured at Benrey. “I guess the mountain is big enough for the both of us.”

Tommy clapped with glee. Gordon held up a hand.

“That being said, I think we should wrap it up here. We’re drawing some unwanted attention.”

Bubby dropped his fork with a clatter. “Good. I wasn’t hungry anyway. Let’s go.” He rose with the clear intention of leaving right this second.

“Guys, we are not going to dine and dash---"

“Smoke screen!” Benrey backhanded his pyramid, sending coffee creamers flying. He and Bubby bolted from the table.

“A footrace! I’m going to win!” Coomer took off.

“Why are we running?” asked Tommy, who ran anyway.

Leaving Gordon and Sunkist behind. Only one of them had a wallet.

Four more hours. Just four more hours on the road.

Benrey better not try to sit on his lap.


	6. Arrival

After they left the restaurant, Gordon didn’t have to worry about Benrey cozying up to him in the crowded car. Benrey had crawled back into the trunk like a creature returning to its burrow. It was easy to forget he was in there, only making his presence known with a thump whenever he disapproved of their music selection. Gordon felt a mixture of relief and bafflement about this. How exactly, with all their bags in the trunk, could Benrey also fit?

“My dad gave me the car,” was the only explanation Tommy offered. “I think it maybe, uh, it has, uh, its own dimension inside it?”

And that was enough for Gordon. He realized, sadly, that somewhere along the way he’d lost his scientific curiosity. Nearly a quarter of his life had been dedicated to the study of theoretical physics, supraquantum structures, and teleportation. Here he was presented with a real-life pocket dimension, and his only response was to shrug and say, “Whatever.”

The first time Gordon experienced burnout, a mentor told him, _Step away for a moment. Don’t think about it. In a moment of peace, you’ll remember why you first came to love it._

Who knows… maybe Gordon could find his peace here.

He shut his eyes, inhaling the smell of earth and pine. Sunlight warmed his face. A light breeze ruffled his hair, bringing with it a refreshing coolness. And the voice of Bubby.

“Get over here, you lazy bum, and help unload the car!”

When Gordon opened his eyes, everything was tinted blue. He blinked a few times to clear his vision.

They were parked on the side of an unpaved road that ended in a dirt clearing. The area was mostly scrubby with widely-spaced pines that gave them only a little shade, but plenty of room for their tents.

Camping here was the closest you could get to being “off the beaten path” without pissing off the park rangers. Gordon was relieved to see they weren’t staying in a campground, with the noisy RV generators, screaming little kids, and everything else it entailed. Plus, those waitresses at the restaurant kind of spooked him. The less people that saw them, the better.

The trade-off was no bathrooms or showers. But if Gordon had learned anything crawling through the bowels of Black Mesa, it was those things were luxuries, not necessities.

Gordon tromped back to the car. Bubby’s idea of help was for Gordon unload the car while he and everyone else watched.

Gordon opened the trunk. Benrey slumped out like a dead body.

“Ohhh, parkour,” he said, falling into a lazy somersault.

Gordon shoved him out of the way with his foot. “Okay, who has the stuff with the blue tags?”

“Me, me, me!” Bubby waved his hand.

Gordon set a rolling suitcase and a tent down between them. “Green tags?”

“Hello Gordon!”

Gordon handed Coomer his own suitcase. He and Bubby walked away from the car to set up. (Only one tent. Huh.)

“Okay, yellow tags. If I had to guess… Tommy.”

Tommy clapped. “You did it, Mr. Freeman! You solved the puzzle!”

A backpack, a tent, and a 30lb bag of dog food were deposited onto the ground. Gordon strained himself on that last one. “Holy shit, what does Sunkist eat? Gold bricks?”

“Gordon Weakman,” Benrey supplied helpfully.

Which just left Gordon’s tent and duffle bag. He grabbed the straps but stopped. There was nothing else inside the trunk. That can’t be right.

Gordon crawled into the shadowy interior. It was like entering a long, upholstery-lined cavern. Sunlight only reached so far inside, even less with Gordon’s bulk blocking it out. He felt his way deeper into the dark until only his feet stuck out.

When Gordon spoke, his voice was slightly muffled. “Uhh… Benrey, I can’t find your bags.”

“S’okay. I didn’t bring anything.”

“What?” Gordon hit his head on the top of the tunnel. He withdrew with a groan. “You didn’t bring anything? Clean clothes? A tent? Food??”

Benrey still lay on the ground, limbs akimbo like a rag doll. “Set it to hard mode. I want the achievements.”

“This isn’t a game! You’re going to be misera— Ughh. Nope. Not my concern.” Gordon slammed the trunk shut.

Tommy called out from the spot he’d chosen. “Benrey will be okay, Mr. Freeman. He read the wikiHow for being a survivor— uh, survivor man.”

From the near-distance, Coomer shouted, “WikiHow? The free online how-to instructions that anyone can edit?”

“Yeah, like, I’m gonna totally own you guys at camping.”

Gordon crossed his arms. “Oh really?”

Benrey got to his feet and sniffed. “Yeah, it’s just sleeping in dirt. S’not that hard.”

“Alright, we’ll see how you feel about that after the first night,” Gordon smirked. “I checked the weather before we left. It’s gonna be forty degrees.”

Benrey looked up doubtfully. The July sun felt mild, especially after skirting Death Valley on their way here.

“S’fine,” he said. “I’m not human.”

“But… you still feel pain, right? I think you do?”

“Whuh?”

Gordon shook his head. He grabbed his things and walked off. “As long as you set up your nest or whatever far, far away from my tent, we’re cool.”

Benrey scrambled after him. “What? I thought we were gonna be neighbors. Pioneer bros. Gotta huddle for warmth.”

Gordon spun on his heel. He pointed in Benrey’s face. “I will _mace_ you. I will. I brought some.”

“Won’t work. That stuff’s for bears. On the label, it says bears. Not Benrey.”

“You went through my stuff?!”

Benrey whined, “What else was I supposed to do in there? Tommy said I can’t bring my Switch or make noise. He said he didn’t know if you were gonna be mean or not. But you are. You are being so mean right now. I don’t wanna, but you’re gonna make me be bad again.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“Nooo, man.” Benrey rolled his head like a frustrated toddler. “If you’re mean, I gotta be mean, too. You’re player dot emm dee ell. Pacifist or genocide route? Benrey will remember that.”

As per usual, Benrey’s explanation was complete gibberish to Gordon. “Are you saying… as long as I’m nice to you, you’ll behave?”

Benrey nodded eagerly.

Gordon sighed. “Fine. Whatever.”

Benrey smiled and held out his arms. “Hug?”

Gordon walked away.

Behind him, he heard a muttered “Gordon _Mean_ man…”


	7. Campfire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a bit 'fluffier' than other chapters. I miss having bonfires with friends. Pardon the self-indulgence.

As soon as the tents were assembled, Bubby wasted no time in putting together a fire pit. Not a minute too soon, either. When Gordon exited his tent (after a long and arduous struggle to get his inflatable mattress inside), the sky was pink. He checked his watch. Why did the sun always seem to set sooner in the mountains?

No complaints from him. Gordon was exhausted, both physically and mentally, from getting here. The idea of settling down early around a fire was a welcome one.

He approached Bubby, who was crouched at the approximate midpoint of their campsite, stacking stones into a ring. “Need a hand?”

“No,” said Bubby without looking up.

“Oookay… I could get kindling or something?”

“Dr. Bubby has declared himself the ‘master of flames’ for our expedition,” said Coomer, walking up. His meaty hands were stuffed into the pockets of a well-worn leather jacket. “He and he alone may tend the inferno!”

“That’s right,” said Bubby smugly.

Gordon laughed. “I’ve been to a couple of bonfires in my time. There’s never been a ‘master of the flames.’”

“Because no one had the proper credentials,” Bubby snarked. “I wrote my thesis on thermodynamics, you know.”

“That’s why he’s fireproof!” said Coomer.

Gordon glanced around. “Well, the forest _isn’t_ , so take it easy, okay guys? I’ll get Tommy and Benrey.”

Tommy was the simplest to find, still inside his red-and-yellow circus of a tent.

“Have you seen Benrey?”

“Um, chasing lizards, last time I saw.”

“Benrey… not Sunkist.”

Tommy nodded.

“Right.” Gordon dreaded stumbling across a hunched blue figure with a wriggling tail clenched in its mouth. The scene he did find was far less gruesome, though still a bit creepy.

Gordon had to walk a good distance from their camp before he found it: a lean-to made of logs and branches, still full of brown pine needles, piled against a tree. He thought he was just kidding before when he referred to Benrey’s proposed shelter as a nest.

“Uh… hello?”

A rustling came from inside. Benrey’s hands appeared first, dragging him forward until his head poked out. “ _Welcahhhhhm_ ,” he drawled, “to Casa del… um, Stong.”

“Not your name. Bubby’s making a bonfire, wanna join us?”

Benrey frowned. “A whuh?”

“A bonfire? You know.” Gordon waved his hand in a circle. “You sit around? Talk? Tell stories?”

Benrey sucked on his teeth. “Sounds a bit shit.”

Gordon huffed. If he came back alone, Coomer or Tommy would scold him for being “mean” again.

“You… burn stuff?”

Oh, Benrey perked up at that.

Soon, the Science Team was gathered around a crackling fire as the last purple traces of dusk left the sky. Benrey joined them late, stalking toward them out of the woods like a horror movie killer.

Bubby, Coomer, and Gordon sat on rocks or logs. Tommy leaned against Sunkist’s curled-up bulk like she was a fluffy yellow beanbag chair.

“Benrey!” Tommy called out cheerfully. He held up metal roasting sticks and a ziplock bag. “I brought marshmallows!”

Gordon clapped. “Alright, Tommy! Now we’re camping.”

Sticks and ‘mallows properly distributed, they settled in for the roast. Benrey opted to stand. He thrust his marshmallow into the heart of the fire.

“Um,” said Tommy, “You’re supposed to hover it. Like a butterfly… drinking… the morning dew.”

Benrey smiled maniacally. “‘M makin’ it to order for Gordon.”

Gordon grimaced at the hard black lump on Benrey’s stick. “There’s no way I’m eating that.”

“Bone apple tea, Feetmannn.”

The wind shifted. Smoke swirled into Benrey’s face. He stumbled back, sputtering. The Science Team dodged his blazing marshmallow as it swung up out of the fire.

Gordon barked an involuntary laugh. “Whoah! You okay, man?”

With the forced composure of a cat that had fallen off a bed, Benrey moved to the other side of the fire. The wind shifted again. Benrey choked on the smoke.

“Well,” said Gordon, smiling, “looks like we found the smoke magnet.”

“Fuck is that?” Benrey coughed. His eyes watered.

“There’s always one. No matter where you go, the smoke is gonna blow that way.”

Benrey frowned, his dark eyes taking on a shrewd glitter. He moved a few steps to the left. As did the plumes of smoke.

“Yup. Benrey’s the magnet.” Gordon watched with amusement as Benrey did laps around the fire, speeding up and slowing down, trying to outwit his inanimate foe. He came to a stop, panting. Sweat beaded on his pale forehead.

“Hckk. Eurgh… _ahhhhhhh—_ "

Benrey spat out a beam of bright green Sweet Voice. The row of glowing orbs hung suspended in the air. The party watched with mild interest as it slowly faded to nothing.

Tommy furrowed his brow. “Green... like, uh, chlorophyll... means he’s going to be ill.”

“If Benrey’s going to vomit, he better do it over there.” Bubby gestured vaguely toward the trees. He tossed another log on the fire.

More sparks and smoke spiraled up from the pit. Benrey dodged them like bullets. “Yo, what the fuck? Why am I the magnet?” he grumbled.

“Magnets are the most mysterious force on earth,” said Tommy sagely. “No one knows how they work.”

Gordon stared at him. “I... I don’t think that’s right.”

“That’s not right,” muttered Bubby.

Benrey paced at the edge of the campfire’s light. The smoke really did seem to be chasing him. “No fair, man. Fuckin’ griefin’ me. I just wanna play. Stop it, please? _Stop_.”

Gordon’s laughter withered in his throat. Benrey was genuinely getting upset. Way more than was reasonable.

He leaned forward and put out a hand. “Hey, it’s just a joke. Like a meme, 'smoke magnet,' haha…”

Conversation ground to a halt. An eerie gibbering floated over the trees. It sounded like a dog’s yelps, punctuated by a woman’s hysterical cry of pain. Sunkist raised her head and growled.

The hair on the back of Gordon’s neck stood on end. “What the hell was that?”

“I believe that was the call of a co-yo- _tey_ ,” said Coomer brightly.

“A coyote? There’s coyotes up here?”

“Oh yes. The Eastern Sierras are home to all manner of predators, such as coyotes, black bears, and mountain lions. The mountain lion, or _Puma concolor_ , is also known as puma, panther, cougar—”

Benrey snorted. “Nice.” At least his strange mood seemed to have lifted.

“So are we... are we good here?” Gordon felt the prickle of sweat forming on his hairline.

“Perfectly safe, Gordon! Coyotes, bears, and the like mostly keep away from human settlements.”

“Mostly,” repeated Bubby. The campfire reflected hellishly in his glasses.

Coomer clapped, making Gordon jump. He rubbed his hands together as his voice took on a mischievous growl. “So! Who shall be the first to tell us a _ghost story?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am always the smoke magnet.


	8. Visitor

Something was outside Gordon’s tent.

He didn’t want to believe it. In fact, he’d been trying to convince himself for the past few minutes that there wasn’t something crunching and grunting around their campsite. It was his imagination, yeah. The ghost stories they told around the fire had been fun in the moment. He even told a few really dumb ones himself. But something about the dark, about being _alone_ in the dark, surrounded by spooky nature sounds, had Gordon convinced that there really was an escaped convict with a hook-hand outside.

Did the canvas next to him just bulge inward? As if a probing snout pushed it? _Nope, no way. My stomach's making me see things. That’s what I get for having nothing but burnt marshmallows for dinner._

Still, his hand shot to the flashlight next to him. He didn’t want to turn it on. It was simply the closest thing he had to a club.

Gordon groped for his glasses. They’d slipped between the mattress and the tent wall after he took them off to read. He was having trouble falling asleep lately. Reading until his eyelids felt like cinderblocks helped, but he was paying for it now.

Whatever it was that stepped heavily up to the canvas flap of his tent, he was going to have to face it blind.

His bag was all the way down at the foot of his mattress. His bag, _with the bear mace inside it_ , was down beside the flimsy door.

Well, at least bears don’t know how zippers—

The zipper moved.

Gordon couldn’t see it, but he heard it. _Bzzt. Brrrrrrip._ A little hesitation at first, as if the something didn’t want the noise to wake him.

No, thought Gordon… It was safe to say there wasn’t a something, but a some _one_ coming into his tent.

A clawed hand peeled down the flap, creating a gap of night. Nebulous shapes writhed within it. Gordon couldn’t tell what was shadow, what was solid, what was a trick of his weak and frightened eyes.

 _Man door hand hook car door_ , shrieked his monkey brain.

Gordon turned on the light.

Enormous black pupils instantly shrunk. The white-faced monster cringed back. “Oww-whuhh.”

“What— _Benrey?!!”_

“Shut up out there!” barked Bubby from the next tent over.

“Wow, Gordon. So rude. Be considerate of your neighbors?” Benrey whispered, zipping the flap up behind him.

“Why the _fuck_ are you sneaking around?” Gordon hissed. He realized he had his blankets gathered under his chin like a scared little kid. He dropped them to jab a finger at Benrey. “You almost gave me a heart attack!”

“It’s cold out there.”

“I _know_ , I _told_ you it would be.”

“Coomer and Bubby are sharing a tent, and Tommy’s got Sunkist. Nobody else has room, so…”

“No. Get out.”

“Huh? You want me to freeze to death, man?” Benrey’s shoulders slumped, his eyes grew wide and hurt, in a decent impression of a man with a broken heart.

Gordon was unmoved. “Why aren’t you in your 'totally poggers' survivor hut? What happened to owning us at camping?”

“It’s night zero. Tutorial level. Doesn’t count.”

“This isn’t a game—”

“Sleepover, Gordon? Sleepover?” Benrey started to crawl toward him. “I can do a French braid for ya.”

“Get out of my tent!” Gordon did a stanky leg move so he could free himself to kick at Benrey.

Benrey fell onto his back and made little butterfly kicks. He cackled. “Feetsies! We’re playing feetsies!”

Gordon stopped when several terrible thoughts entered his head. In particular, Benrey’s favorite pet name for him. “This... this isn’t sexual, is it?”

“I dunno, is it?”

Gordon sucked his legs back under the blankets.

“Ha- _haa!”_ In one fluid motion, Benrey rolled onto his knees and began rooting through Gordon’s bag.

“Haven’t you violated my privacy enough?”

“Was too dark before. Gotta… gotta check for contraband.”

“Really?” said Gordon wearily. “We’re still doing the security guard routine? You think I fit an RPG in there?”

“Gordon’s into role play, I knew it. Gordon Freakman.”

“Wha— fuckin', you _know_ what RPG—!”

The smile dropped off Benrey’s face. Staring into the bag, his expression suddenly turned grave.

“What? What is it?”

Benrey turned his head. Shadows from the flashlight pooled around his eyes in a way that made Gordon shudder. “Do you have something to declare, sir?”

“Uhh... no?”

Benrey quirked an eyebrow. “Didn’t, uh, didn’t take you for that kind of guy.”

“What are you talking...”

Gordon tossed aside the blankets and crawled to where Benrey kneeled. He snatched the bag from him and peered inside. Jeans, t-shirts, toothbrush... perfectly normal stuff.

A loud rubbery _flumpf_ came from behind him. Gordon whipped around to see Benrey nestling into his mattress and pulling up the blankets.

“Oooh it’s still warrrrrm.”

 _Breathe, Gordon. Breathe…_ He turned to face Benrey fully. Sitting on his heels, hands on his thighs, he adopted a meditative pose. “Benrey, I’m trying really, _really_ hard to be nice. Because I want you to be nice to me, right? Well, that goes both ways.”

Benrey’s mouth turned into a deep horseshoe-shape.

“This…” Gordon waved his hands around him. “… is my private space. I need it to feel safe, right? So when you barge in or you stay even when I tell you to go away, that’s not very _nice_ of you.”

Benrey huffed and looked to the side. “Geez. I thought we were having fun…”

Gordon pressed his hands into his eyes until he saw galaxies. They felt so, so dry. “We can talk in the morning about the difference between fun and harassment, alright? I just wanna sleep.”

“No.”

_“Benreyyy...”_

“Nice for nice. Scratch my back and, um…” Benrey popped his lips. “You’ll scratch mine.”

Gordon was too tired to make sense of that. He still managed to negotiate Benrey’s departure for the price of one blanket. Good. Alone again. 

Leaving just Gordon and his nightmares. 


	9. Breakfast

“Ah! Hello, Gordon! Did you sleep well?”

Coomer stood beside the fire pit with a mug in his hand. Bubby crouched close to him, tending to the small flame. A spit had been built over the pit from collected branches, the central rod threaded through the handle of a kettle. Steam rose from the spout, carrying a strange sweet smell over to Gordon.

“Uhh, yeah. I think I caught a few z’s,” Gordon replied thickly. He decided it was best to leave out that when he wasn’t tossing and turning and shivering through last night, he was dreaming of endless concrete corridors, blaring alarms, and something very, very large chasing him. “Was kinda cold...”

“That’s too bad. You should have come better prepared!” Coomer gestured across the pit. “Why, even Benrey brought a blanket.”

Gordon shot a look at the security guard sitting out of range of the fire’s smoke. Benrey was wrapped up like an old woman in his- in _Gordon’s_ \- blanket. He didn’t look up at Gordon, just cinched his prize tighter around his head and shoulders.

Gordon interpreted Benrey’s lack of a pithy response as an acceptance of the terms laid out last night. Nice for nice. Benrey had always been a stickler for rules.

Gordon smiled and nodded toward Benrey. “You’re right, Dr. Coomer. I should’ve. But it looks like Benrey’s on the right track for this trip.”

Black eyes glittered back at Gordon from within the blanket’s folds.

“Here, Mr. Freeman, drink something warm!” Tommy pulled the kettle off the fire. He tipped it into a mug, sloshing steaming brown liquid over the rim.

“Alright, coffee!” Gordon grinned. He rubbed his hands together as Tommy brought it to him.

“I love a good hot cup of coffee in the morning,” said Coomer.

Gordon took a sip. He promptly spat it back out. Something offensively sweet sizzled on his tongue, and it wasn’t coffee.

“Whah— what _is_ that??”

“It’s Dr. Pepper, Mr. Freeman.”

“I love a good hot cup of Dr. Pepper in the morning,” said Coomer.

Gordon blurted, “It tastes like piss!!”

“I love a good hot cup of piss in the morning.”

“You... you don’t like it?” asked Tommy. He looked as though his heart would break.

“N-no, I just, uh, wasn’t expecting the... refreshing taste.” Gordon took another sip. He forced his disgusted grimace into a smile. “Mmm, s’good!”

“How would you know what piss tastes like?” said Bubby. “Sampled some in your time?”

Again, Benrey was conspicuously silent.

“Hey, on an unrelated note,” Gordon gasped after winning the war with his own gag reflex, “did we bring any water with us?”

“Water? Eurghh.” Bubby shuddered.

“Don’t worry, Mr. Freeman. I brought enough soda to last us the whole trip,” said Tommy proudly.

Gordon’s eyes darted between his four companions. He barked out a laugh. “Guys... it’s for two days. We’re gonna need more than soda and marshmallows. This isn’t Black Mesa, running from vending machine to vending machine. We don’t _have_ to live on sugar anymore.”

The Science Team stared at him in bafflement.

Gordon was aware Coomer had bio-enhancements, Bubby was created in a tube, and that Tommy was half... whatever G-man was. Maybe all those things allowed them to ingest sugar as a stable fuel source. Kind of like... hummingbirds. That would explain why they never seemed to stop moving. And when they did, it was a total shutdown. As if they went offline.

The thought never occurred to Gordon. And why should it? The only other time he’d spent with the Science Team he was busy fighting for his life. Now that he was safe, they were _all_ safe, his friends’ unique metabolisms might be worthy of study.

“Okay, so _Gordon_ can’t live on sugar,” Gordon clarified. “We should make a run into town and pick up supplies. Maybe today?”

“Maybe not,” muttered Bubby.

“Why, may I ask?”

“Well, because it’s today, Mr. Freeman,” said Tommy, wringing his hands. “It’s the Fourth.”

“... Oh.”

Very rapidly, in a sped-up slideshow of visuals and sensations, Gordon imagined poppers snapping like gunshots as they were thrown at the sidewalk, cardboard tubes screaming and showering sparks in the middle of the street, red-white-and-blue dandelion heads exploding above him like festive mortars. And people, so many people, too many to push through if he needed, _when_ he needed, to escape.

“Maybe...” Gordon wet his lips, “we can go tomorrow then.”

The Science Team nodded, satisfied, and returned to their revolting mugs.

They all jumped when Benrey stamped his feet.

“‘M bored! I wanna do something!” His petulant voice was muffled by the blanket.

“Agreed!” said Bubby. He dumped his cup into the fire. It was already quite low, and died with a hiss of sweet-smelling smoke. Bubby peered at them through the steam. “Who wants to go for a hike?”


	10. Hike

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now back to our regularly scheduled angst.

God, it felt so good to move.

Gordon didn’t feel like a passenger in his own body for once. He was aware of every breath, every stony edge through his boot soles, every kiss of the breeze across his skin. It wasn’t all great. In particular, he regretted not bringing a hat. But he was present.

_I’m here. I’m in this moment. And it has a beautiful view._

He, Benrey, and the Science Team had chosen to hike up a crest that overlooked one of the lakes. With each curve in the path, the forest would part and Gordon could catch a glimpse of the water. It reflected the trees, dressed in their deep summer green, like a dancing mirror.

“I’m so glad I came,” Gordon sighed.

“I’m glad, too, Mr. Freeman,” Tommy said between gulps for air. “I was… was scared you wouldn’t.”

He and Sunkist trudged along behind Gordon. Coomer and Bubby were somewhere up ahead. They’d started the hike trying to subtly pull ahead of one another until they were full-on sprinting up the incline.

Benrey, meanwhile, had gone off trail at the first opportunity. Gordon hadn’t seen him in nearly an hour.

“Could you blame me?” replied Gordon, looking back at Tommy. “G-Man basically said he’d show me the end of _All Dogs Go to Heaven 2_ if I left the house.”

“Yeah… my dad is…” A gulp of air. “… intense.”

“Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask you—“ Gordon stopped in the shade. Tommy stopped beside him, clutching his side. “Back in that break room, at Black Mesa, you told me you’re an orphan.”

“Yeah, but I have a dog.” Tommy placed a hand on Sunkist’s head. She leaned into his touch, eyes shut and tongue lolling.

“Right, but… you’re G-Man’s son.”

“Uh-huh.”

Gordon wasn’t sure what to say. He could only gesture in distress.

The gears clicked in Tommy’s head. “Oh! Yeah. I, uh, forgot.”

“…. You forgot you had a dad.”

“Uh, yeah, we should, we should keep going. Don’t want our friends to get too far ahead!” Tommy lurched forward with newfound energy. Sunkist bounded after him, wagging and puffing, like it was a game.

Gordon wasn’t playing along, however.

“See, I don’t get that. You forgot you had a family? Family that could _stop time?”_

“He asked me to.”

Gordon grabbed onto Tommy’s shoulder, forcing them both to stop. “Asked you? What are you saying… G-Man _made_ you forget him?”

Tommy fidgeted and wouldn’t meet his gaze. “It’s… complicated… Mr. Freeman.” The terse, guarded way in which he spoke was eerily familiar to Gordon. A shiver went up his spine.

The illusion broke when Tommy smiled, wide and uncertain. “But-but-but my dad, he’s, I think he’s trying to make up for lost time. He threw me a birthday party, took me to see a movie, he gave me a car…”

Gordon’s hand slipped from Tommy’s shoulder. Something Benrey had said wriggled back up from his memory. _Tommy likes mean people._

“Y’know, just because someone does a few nice things for you doesn’t make everything better.”

“But-but if I messed up, I’d want someone to give _me_ another chance.”

Gordon smiled. “Tommy, you’re the sweetest person I know. What could you possibly do that would need someone’s forgiveness?”

“I’m a killer, Mr. Freeman.”

Gordon’s thoughts stuttered to a stop. It took him a good moment to realize, no, Tommy wasn’t talking about some dark past from before Gordon knew him. He was talking about…

“Me too, man.” Gordon put his hand back on Tommy’s shoulder. This time, to ground himself. “But it was in self-defense… wasn’t it?”

“It was?” Tommy looked down at his hands. He anxiously dry-washed them, as if trying to erase some unseen stain. “I-I can’t remember. It was all instinct, Mr. Freeman. Headcrabs, Vonneguts, people... I just wanted to protect my friends.”

“See? It was for the right reason.”

Tommy looked up at him doubtfully. “Friendship?”

“Yeah.” Gordon smiled. He nodded, starting to believe himself. “Hell yeah.”

“But— then— then why did we hurt our friend? Why did we kill Benrey?”

Gordon took a step back. “Tommy…” He laughed incredulously. “You _know_ why. He was going to invade Earth! He was sending all that nasty shit through the rift. Y’know, everything trying to _kill_ us? We had to! To save everyone!”

“Oh.” Tommy looked away, disappointed.

“I’m sorry, are those not good enough reasons to kill an alien tyrant?”

“It’s just that… on the islands? Benrey said you— you used to be ‘good friends.’” Tommy’s piercing eyes scanned Gordon for a reaction. “I wanted to understand, in the cave, why he was doing this, but it— it didn’t make sense. I thought maybe you did. Because you knew him.”

“Tommy, I have no idea what the fuck Benrey was on about. In the cave, on the islands— Everything in Xen was his standard horseshit, just turned up to eleven.”

“He seemed so sincere,” Tommy murmured. “He said you guys used to play together…”

“I met Benrey the day of the Resonance Cascade. I don’t know what to tell you.”

Gordon looked down at the lake. It seemed so very far, far away. How did they get here? It was a beautiful day a few moments ago. Now he was outside of himself again, back in a concrete corridor lit by fluorescent lights, the HEV suit bearing down on his chest and shoulders. “The first time I ever saw that asshole, he was chasing me down and asking me for my fuckin’ passport—”

“You talking ‘bout passports?”

Gordon nearly jumped out of his skin. Benrey had silently materialized behind him and Tommy. “Jesus Christ!”

“Naw.” Benrey sniffed. “He wishes he had these no-clip skills.”

“Did you see anything interesting?” asked Tommy brightly. Their conversion was clearly over. Gordon wished he could switch tracks so easily.

A devilishly delighted grin split Benrey’s face. He held up a stick. Something long, flat, and the color of curdled milk dangled off the end.

At first Gordon thought Benrey had found the biggest used condom he’d ever seen. He pulled back in horror. “What the _fuck_ is that?”

Benrey cackled and waved it like a limp flag. “What, you never seen a snakeskin before? Idiot?”

Tommy, in contrast, leaned in closer. “Oh! I know this! I read all three-hundred and thirty-six pages of the guidebook for the, uh, local creatures. You can tell by the markings this was shed by uh, um, a timber rattlesnake!”

“O-ohh. That’s pretty cool.” Gordon smiled wanly. He didn’t have a phobia of snakes, per se. But rattlers did fall under the category of “creepy and/or crawly.” Gordon had enough of sharp-toothed creatures that scuttled along the ground to last a lifetime.

“Yeah? Wanna look closer?” Benrey swung the stick toward Gordon’s face.

Gordon dodged it. _Be cool, Freeman, be cool._ “Get. That thing. Out of my face. Please.”

“Don’t want my thing in your face? You don’t want my snake?”

“What is wrong with you.”

“It’s a gift. Freesh for youuu. Potato snakeskins.”

Gordon wanted to be mad. He should have been mad. But the stupid way Benrey laughed, the "nyehehehe" that meant he _knew_ he was being a little shit, made Gordon crack.

“Get it away!” He batted at Benrey, laughter bubbling up in his voice.

“Take my snake.” Benrey jabbed it toward him like a lion tamer’s chair.

“I don’t want your snake!” Gordon took another step back.

“Take my snake, take my snake!”

“I don’t—“

He didn’t have time to scream. There was earth under his feet, and then there wasn’t. His hands were empty, and then they were grabbing fistfuls of weeds, loose gravel, anything. He was falling forever.

And then he was stopped.


	11. Free Climb

Gordon didn’t dare move. He was on his belly. His legs trembled from the awkward position they were now stuck in: spread behind him, toes hammered in the mountainside like climber’s pitons. One arm stretched above him, the other to the side. He didn’t know what he held onto. His right hand was numb.

“Mr. Freeman!!”

When Gordon looked up, he saw that he had only slid down five, maybe six feet. Tommy and Benrey peered at him over the trail’s side.

“Oh no,” said Benrey. His expression was unreadable.

Tommy’s eyes bulged from their sockets. “C-Can you move, Mr. Freeman?”

“Nuhhh…” The wind was knocked out of him by the fall. He was afraid if he shook his head, the movement might dislodge him from his footholds. They weren’t that solid. Even now, he could feel himself slowly sliding inch by inch. “I cahhh… I can’t.”

“It’s not that far, you can reach us!”

“Nnnn,” Gordon wheezed. He pressed himself closer into the sloping ground. He felt sand bite into his cheek. He must have scraped it pretty good on the way down.

“Imma get the old guys,” said Benrey. “Which is the one with extendo-arms?”

“You can’t,” Tommy replied miserably.

Gordon risked moving his head to look back up. Just then, Benrey reappeared over the edge, like he’d turned to leave but came back. Tommy hadn’t moved. In fact, Gordon was pretty sure he had yet to blink.

“They won’t come because they’re slow now,” murmured Tommy. “I made it happen.”

“Whuh?” said Gordon and Benrey at the same time.

Sweat beaded on Tommy’s forehead. “I’m, uh, I’m concentrating. On me and Mr. Freeman. Time is… is moving slower now.”

“You mean I’m still falling?” Gordon’s voice cracked as his heart leapt into his throat.

“I can’t freeze time like my dad, Mr. Freeman. I’m sorry. I’m not as strong as him.” Tommy’s eyes watered, whether from effort or tears Gordon couldn’t tell.

“That’s okay, Tommy,” Gordon spoke soothingly, despite his rising panic. “You’re doing great. Could you, uh, reach down toward me?”

“I-I can’t move either, or time will start again.”

“Then don’t— definitely don’t do that.”

“Oh yo, alien bros moments?” Benrey piped up. He turned toward Tommy, fingers threaded under his chin. “We gotta up your rank. Getcha on my level. ‘Cuz see? I can move through freezen time.”

“Benrey,” Gordon started through gritted teeth. He quickly changed his tone. “Benrey… _you_ can grab me. Hurry up! My whole body’s cramping.” That was the easiest problem to diagnose. Gordon wasn’t sure how to verbalize that his heart had made its home in his throat and threatened to pinch off his air every time it beat. Or a black vignette appeared in the corners of his vision, creeping inward like the end of a Bugs Bunny cartoon.

Benrey tsked. And began to float. “This guy. Never please and thank you.”

“Careful, Benrey,” Tommy strained. “I don’t… know what’ll happen when you touch him. He might start moving all at once.”

Benrey stopped, already hovering in open air, and Gordon was struck with another delirious reminder of a Looney Tunes character. Instead of holding up a sign that said “yipe,” though, Benrey looked down at him with a shrewd expression.

“He’ll have to jump, then.”

“What?!” This time, it was Gordon and Tommy in unison.

“Don’t freak out, don’t freak out. You’ll fall into me.” Benrey levitated out of sight. When he spoke again, it was from directly behind Gordon. “Trust me. I gotchu.”

Gordon growled and shook his head. He slid a little faster. “Can’t. Can’t move.”

“Just push off. C’mon, I’ll catch you. ‘Member that? From when you were tryin’a steal?”

“I…” Gordon laughed a little. “I can’t make me let go. S’like… my brain…”

“Is bein’ a little chicken hat? Yeah, okay.” Pale fingers appeared to his right. “Then gimme your hand.”

Gordon tried to concentrate on them. But the black fog was getting thicker, and through it he could see purple and blue pinpricks of starlight appear. “I don’t…”

“Just one part. Just your hand.”

“I don’t feel it,” Gordon rasped.

_What’d you do?_

“You already took it.”

_Write your name too many times on the blackboard, idiot?_

“Tommy?” someone said uncertainly.

_TOMMY._

_Do you see the next step?_

Gordon stared into a pit that crackled with yellow lightning.

_Look, Gordon! A rope! We can use these to help with pit— Help me, Gordon!_

_Aaah, Gordon! Help me!_

_Help, Mr. Freeman!_

_Help me!_

_Help me help me help me help me help me helpmehelpmehelpmehelpmehelpmehelpmehelpmehelpmehelpmehelpmehelpmehelpmehelpmehelpmehelpmehelpmehelpmehelpmehelpmehelpmehelpmehelpmehelpmehelpmehelpmehelpmehelpmehelpmehelpmehelpmehelpmehelpmehelpmehelpmehelpmehelpmehelpmehelpmehelpmehelpmehelpmehelpmehelpmehelpmehelpmehelpmehelpmehelpme_

.

. .

. . .

Gordon was aware of pressure. It bore down on him from his chest all the way down to his knees. It wasn’t unpleasant. In fact, it felt grounding. Gordon followed the sensation up and out of the shrieking black void. He reached up, and felt fur.

“What… what is…”

Something painted a wet stripe up his face.

“Ughh!”

“He’s awake! Get that damnable dog off him!”

“… Bubby?”

“Sorry, Mr. Freeman! B-But she was crying until we let her lay on you.”

Gordon felt the weight above him shift as it was pulled to the side. He wrapped his arms around Sunkist, pulling her back. “No, no, it’s okay. She’s… kinda helping.”

The dog kissed him again. It wasn’t so bad the second time. The coolness on his cheek gave Gordon another sensation to focus on.

Eventually, Sunkist’s great bear-like weight grew uncomfortable. Gordon lifted his head to see she had only dropped her chest and head onto him. He gave a _pat-pat_ on the neck, and she gently peeled away, sitting back down at Tommy’s heel.

“She really is the perfect dog…”

“Mr. Freeman, are you okay?!”

“You gave us quite the fright there, Gordon.”

Gordon propped himself up on his elbows. He felt dirt underneath him. He was back on the trail.

The Science Team gathered around him anxiously. Gordon managed a smile. “Yeah, I… I had a dream. And you were there. And you. And you.”

He pointed to them one by one. Tommy laughed uncertainly. Coomer and Bubby each took an elbow and eased Gordon back onto his feet.

“What happened?” he asked woozily. He felt like he’d been punched in the head. And stomach. And everywhere.

Tommy wrung his hands. “I, I, I lost my concentration and time started to move normal again and you were falling and Benrey no-clipped into you and that stopped you and I ran and I ran and got Dr. Coomer—”

“I saved you, Gordon!” said Coomer. He flexed. “With my big strong arms!”

“Thank you, Dr. Coomer. We’ll add it to the hundred other times.” Gordon put a hand appreciatively on Coomer’s shoulder. “So where’s Benrey?”

“I… I donno.” Tommy looked around, puzzled.

“He probably went back to camp,” said Bubby. “That’s what I would have done if I had teleportation powers. It was boring waiting for you to come back to your senses.”

“Camp.” The word came out of Gordon in one long, tired sigh. “Going sounds a good… uhh, like a good idea. Going camp. Back.” He shook his head. God, he wasn’t making any sense. Could he even walk?

He didn’t have to worry about that for long, as Tommy and Coomer each took an arm and lifted Gordon between them. Tommy was the tallest of the four of them, and his assistance made Gordon walk a bit crooked. But any help was welcome.

“Sorry I ruined the hike,” Gordon mumbled.

“You’re forgiven,” said Bubby.

Coomer cleared his throat.

“I mean… all that matters is that you’re alright.”

“I dunno what happened, I just… locked up.”

“It sounds like you had another attack of the Crumbles,” said Coomer. “I believe I diagnosed you with it black in Back Mesa.”

Gordon nodded. “Yeah… yeah, I guess it felt like the same thing…”

He was never going to be free of that place, was he? His body made it out, but his mind could snap back there at the slightest hint of stress. And there was one person to blame for the worst of it.

Confusedly, wretchedly, Gordon mulled over how he now owed Benrey some thanks.


	12. Stargazing

When Gordon opened his eyes, it took him a moment to remember who he was, let alone what species he was. A cloudless heaven the color of distant wildfires sheltered him. It came into focus as he blinked, and he realized it was just his tent ceiling. The last gasp of daylight filtered through the orange canvas. Holy shit, was it dusk?

He rolled off the inflatable mattress. His legs felt strangely heavy. Looking down, Gordon realized he’d taken a nap with his hiking boots still on. And, yup. There was dried mud all over the blankets.

He needed to see a person and confirm he still spoke English.

Gordon staggered out of the tent with a flashlight. Sunkist laid directly in front of him. She raised her head, sweeping the forest floor clean of pine needles with her tail. He gave her a pat.

“S’okay. ‘M okay. No need to stand guard.”

Sunkist snorted and stayed put.

It was already thirty degrees cooler (Fahrenheit, very important distinction for a scientist) than it had been that afternoon. Gordon reach back inside the tent, retrieving his love-worn MIT sweatshirt. The interior was still slightly warm from his own body heat. Maybe he could slip back back inside, crawl into bed (shoes off), and just call the day a wash—

“Ah! Hello, Gordon!”

Of course. No rest for the weary. Gordon, reluctantly, ponderously, pulled his head back out of the tent.

The Science Team sat at the center of camp, bundled up in coats and blankets. Gordon was surprised to see the fire pit unlit.

“No marshmallows tonight?” Gordon asked on his approach. Sunkist followed after him. She glued herself to Tommy once they reached the circle.

“Tommy said no fire.” Bubby’s head rested wistfully on his hand. He flicked a lighter in the other.

“We need the, the, uh— darkness to see the stars better,” Tommy explained with strained enthusiasm. He looked absolutely exhausted. Even in what little light there was, Gordon could see it. The day has taken a lot out of them both. “Would you like to join us, Mr. Freeman?”

_I would like to sleep for a hundred years. I would like to turn into mulch and become one of these trees._

“Sure, Tommy. Thanks.” Gordon accepted a can of soda from Tommy and stood next to him. Their circle looked heavy on one side now. “Have you guys seen Benrey?”

“Benrey?” Bubby raised his head. “Oh, yes. I heard howling earlier. Maybe that was him. Or something that ate him.”

Coomer tsked. “Those poor coyotes. Alien flesh always gave _me_ indigestion. I wonder how Boper would taste?”

But before Gordon could properly voice his horror—

“Blue.”

Everyone jumped. A shadow melted from out of a tree and joined them.

“What we, uh, doin’ tonight?” said Benrey. His hands were stuffed in the pocket of his hoodie. Gordon tried to meet his eye and indicate he wanted to talk. But Benrey’s face was too dark to see, half-hidden under that beanie. Gordon noted, unsurprised but no less disgusted, that Benrey still hadn’t changed his clothes since yesterday.

“Stargazing,” answered Tommy.

“Huh? Wassat?”

“The observation of the night sky and her celestial bodies,” began Coomer. “There are many stories to be found among the constellations, ancient though timeless—”

“Fuck that, it’s _space!!”_ Bubby thrust a finger upwards, as if calling his shot. “A billion, trillion worlds! Untouched by the filth of humanity! Oh, I long to go back…”

“The stars are, um, nice to look at,” Tommy offered simply. He tilted his head back, smiling.

Gordon looked up and—

“Whoah.”

The velvety black sky appeared to be sprinkled with sugar. Gordon had lived in major cities his entire life - Seattle, Boston, Santa Fe (briefly, before moving on campus to work at Black Mesa.) And sure, he’d been on trips before. But never as far outside civilization as they were now. The veil of the planet’s atmosphere pulled back, giving them the ultimate show. A play that had been going on for fourteen billion years.

Gordon could see the Milky Way. He could actually _see_ the spiral arm of the galaxy that housed their solar system. The Earth. This forest. His friends. Everything he loved and feared. They were infinitesimal specks in a sea of bigger, burning specks.

Gordon stumbled and almost tripped. He’d leaned too far back to take it all in. He sat down between Tommy and Bubby, his head swimming with existential vertigo.

“Look, fellows! There’s the constellation of Cancer, the Crab!” In his periphery, Gordon saw Coomer point. He didn’t look up just yet, he… needed a second.

“That’s relevant, as I’m pretty sure we all have it,” muttered Bubby.

“What does that mean?”

“Don’t listen to him, Tommy.” Gordon patted his friend’s knee.

“Yes, listen to him, Tommy,” Bubby started again. “Between the Resonance Cascade and wading through pools of green goo, I think we’re all more cancer than man at this point.”

“No,” said Tommy, brow furrowing. “The green slime was OSHA-approved. I think we’re okay.”

“Think what you want. I’m still going to live like I’m already dead,” Bubby sniffed.

“Nice. Good positive thinking,” Gordon replied scoldingly. “Dr. Coomer, you said there are stories for the constellations?”

“Hello, Gord—! Yes. According to Wikipedia, the free online encyclopedia that anyone can edit, Cancer represents the giant crab defeated by Heracles as part of his Twelve Labors.”

“Huh. I didn’t know that.” Gordon looked up to where Coomer pointed. “I thought the guy naming stars really liked seafood or something.”

“What are you talking about?” asked Benrey. The moon was nearly full, and by its light, Gordon could see a look of intense consternation on his upturned face.

Gordon pointed to the same spot as Coomer. “Can’t you see the crab, Benrey?”

“No…”

“Cancer has been represented as many types of creatures in different cultures,” said Coomer. “The Egyptians saw it as a scarab beetle, for example.”

Gordon tilted his head. “Yeah. Okay. I can see it.”

“See _what?”_ said Benrey.

Gordon sighed, getting to his feet. He walked over to Benrey and pointed again. “Right there. See? It’s forked at the end, kinda like pincers.”

“Do you see the stars?” asked Tommy. “There’s five. One, two…”

Benrey shot him a look. “I see dust.”

Gordon didn’t like the venomous tone Benrey took with Tommy. He grabbed Benrey’s head (a bit too forcibly, maybe) and lined it up with his outstretched arm like a rifle sight. “There. Cancer. A crab. See it?”

Benrey ripped out of his grasp. Gordon stared down in bewilderment at the beanie left in his hand. He turned to look at its owner, but Benrey had already melted back into the trees.

“Guys’re fuckin’ with me,” his amorphous form muttered. “S’like the fuckin’ smoke magnet again.”

“Benrey, don’t go!” Tommy pleaded.

“S’no crab.” Benrey’s voice was nearly indecipherable, thickened by an unknown emotion. “There’s nothing there.” Pine needles crunched as he walked away.

Coomer was up and after him in an instant. The sounds of their retreat stopped. Only the unintelligible murmur of their voices, lowered to conspiratorial volumes, drifted back.

Bubby spoke first. “What the hell just happened?”


	13. Night Walk

No one moved. Bubby stared into the trees with a pinched expression, arms crossed. Tommy held Sunkist’s silky ear in both hands as if he might read his future there.

 _It’s fine,_ thought Gordon, sitting stick-straight. He bounced his knee - the one with the beanie draped over it. _Benrey’s just being a brat. Coomer will talk him down, like he did for me back at the diner. And that’s all. They are not conspiring. Not conspiring against you. Wow, when did you become such an egomaniac, huh?_

_Somewhere around that time all the lights went out and a soldier bashed me over the head._

Bubby and Tommy looked curiously at Gordon, who was suddenly standing.

“I’m, uh… gonna go check on them,” Gordon heard himself say. He was already walking into the trees.

He did his best to make his approach a silent one. Coomer and Benrey were a good distance away from camp. The trees grew thicker here, keeping the moonlight at bay. Gordon followed the hushed voices into near-perfect darkness. He prayed he wouldn’t walk face first into a trunk. Or worse, a spiderweb.

He stopped, holding his breath, as soon as he could pick out words.

“… understand. Like, you know better’an anyone here.”

“I do, but I’ve come to terms with it,” Coomer replied somberly.

“Okay, well. Nice for you. But I seen more. I been outside the map.”

“As have I—”

“No, _outside_ the outside.” Gordon had never heard Benrey so agitated. Even for their final battle on Xen, his threats and taunts were half-joking. “I remember bein’ there, bbbbb… billions of years.”

“Are you speaking literally?”

“Yeah, man. No one ever listens to me. Said’m old…” Gordon could hear Benrey scuff his boot on the ground.

“Forgive me, but you are known to exaggerate for the sake of humor.”

“Huh? No. It’s real. I think. I was chillin’, y’know. Up there. Bored as shit. See some dust, maybe, and big… hotted… balls.”

“Stars.”

“Yeah whatever.” Benrey sniffed. “But everything’s so far apart. Mostly…”

“There’s nothing there,” finished Coomer.

“Yeah. So then I find a place and I’m like, oh shit. There’s stuff. That’s cool. But these guys show up and start takin’ the stuff. And I’m like, hey. That’s, um, that’s stealing. So I have to follow them. But the guys, they’ve got way better stuff. Like, why you stealin’ bro? You got video games, and cool uniforms, and passports. There’s rules to follow. It makes me feel good.” Benrey’s voice dipped low, almost too low for Gordon to hear. “Made me feel good.”

“You have... NO... active quests,” Coomer said in an eerily flat tone.

“Gordon said I was bad, so I was. You wanted me to die, so I did. I did what I was s’posed to. There’s no, like… point anymore.”

Silence. Gordon was certain that they could hear his heartbeat.

He almost did give his position away, flinching when Coomer suddenly spoke.

“Pareidolia is the tendency for incorrect perception of a stimulus as an object, pattern or meaning known to the observer.”

Another, shorter silence. “That’s cool,” said Benrey.

“Do you understand?”

“Yeah, it’s… It’s Wikipedia.”

“Benrey,” said Coomer. “There is no crab.”

“IIIII _knew_ it!” Benrey crowed. “Bunch of liars! Lying ‘bout crab!”

“The stars in the constellation Cancer are hundreds of lightyears apart from one another, yet to an observer on Earth, they appear to align perfectly. There is no crab. And yet, we see one.”

“… huh? Whuh?”

“The mind tries to identify patterns in chaos. That’s the entire point of being a scientist! To understand and categorize our reality. As for our reason for existing in that reality… Well, there are questions that even science can’t answer.”

Gordon heard the hearty slap of what he presumed to be Coomer’s hands coming to rest on Benrey’s shoulders. “We write our own quests from here, Bipple. That is both the burden and power of the human condition.”

Benrey mumbled something.

“Could you repeat that?”

Gordon leaned closer.

“I said,” Benrey huffed. “I’m not—“

Snap.

“Ah! Hello, Gordon!”

“Hhhhhhhello, Dr. Coomer,” Gordon cringed. He lifted his boot off of the offending branch.

“It’s about time you showed up. My dialogue options have all but run out. Well, I’ll leave you to it!” With a rush of air and rapidly retreating crunches, Coomer sprinted back toward camp.

Gordon felt the beanie get pulled from his hand.

“Yo,” said a voice directly by his ear.

“Fuckin’ Christ!”

“It’s pretty rude, y’know. Listening in on people’s conversations.”

“Well excuse me for breaking etiquette. Because the last time you snuck off with a member of the Science Team, I became a lefty.”

The darkness did not reply. Gordon wasn’t sure Benrey was still there. He spoke anyway.

“I’m sorry.”

“Huh? Wassat?”

“I said, _I’m sorry_ for snapping. For this time and the other times. And just now, I guess.” Gordon sighed and rubbed his neck. “What I actually wanted to do, what I’m _trying_ to do, is thank you. Tommy said you stopped me from falling to my death. So… Yeah. Thanks for that.”

“Sorry I almost killed you.”

“Which time?”

“You want big Benny apology video or not?”

“Shutting the fuck.” Gordon mimed zipping his mouth, for the benefit of only himself.

“I was just jokin’ around. Didn’t mean for slip’n fall moments. Was just tryin’ to show you this stupid thing I found. Tryin’ to have fun, y’know?”

“I know,” Gordon said, softly. “I was laughing, too.”

“S’like, when you’re mean, I have to be mean. But when you’re nice, you’re not really nice. You’re not saying anything to me.”

“… Ohh.” Gordon realized that, yes, he had been actively ignoring Benrey early that day. On their way to the trail, Gordon assumed Benrey was trying to get a rise out of him again, asking ‘where are we, what are we doing’ every ten steps. Maybe he didn’t go off trail because he’d felt bored. He’d felt neglected.

Benrey sighed heavily. He patted his sides. “I like… uhh, talking to you. You care too much. ‘Bout little things. I don’t get it. But it’s funny when you yell. Even funnier when you laugh. Wanna, uhmm, hear you laugh. I only heard it twice here. First time, I get smoke. Not nice. And the other time, you almost die.”

“Benrey…” Gordon laughed a little. “When has my death ever stopped you from doing a bit?”

“Well, y’know…” Benrey cleared his throat. “S’like you said. It’s not a game. Anymore.”

“It never _was—”_

“Buhbuhbuh myuhnuhuh, whatever.” Benrey sighed. “I can’t be mean. I can’t have fun. No protecting you. No tryn’a stop you. What’s the point of anything, man?”

“Fuck, Benrey, I am the wrong person to ask that.” It poured out of Gordon in a weird, nervous giggle. “I’ve been sitting on my ass for three months asking myself the same thing. I survived all that shit, for what? So I could sit in a box? Wait for permission to rejoin the world from a guy I'm pretty sure isn't human? So how could he know I'm going _literally insane_ without other people. I didn't have anyone to confirm that Black Mesa even happened. _That’s_ what we killed for. What we killed _you_ for. What is the fucking point…”

A heavy pause. Then a lip smack. “Didn’t you want to be a streamer or sumthin?”

“Oh, god. You remember that.” Gordon laughed, ruefully. “Seems pretty stupid now. Tommy was right. Who’s gonna wanna watch some long-haired nerd play video games on the internet?”

“I dunno,” Benrey mumbled. “I think it’s cool.”

Gordon snorted. “Wait. Really?”

Benrey scuffed his boot in the dirt again. “No. Yeah. I dunno. It’s, like, pointless or whatever. Everything’s kinda pointless. But if you’re doing something for fun, then it’s _for_ something, right? And it’s more fun to play with other people, even if they’re watching. Maybe we could even... play togetherorwhatever...” He trailed off into a mumble.

Gordon looked down musingly. The movement turned into a nod. “I’ll consider it. But only because you showed remorse for something.”

Benrey perked up. “Team? Yeah? Stream team? We’re friends?”

Gordon rolled his eyes. “Yes, Benrey. I guess that means we’re friends.”

Benrey suddenly grabbed his hand. The color rose in Gordon’s cheeks.

“Whoah. What’re you—“

“Have something to show you. Follow me, please?”

Benrey moved forward. Gordon rooted himself to the spot, pulling out of Benrey’s grasp. Gordon finally turned his flashlight on.

Benrey looked back at him, puzzled and annoyed. His hat was, of course, back on.

“Do we have to hold hands to see this thing?” asked Gordon.

“Yes, for safety. Come with me, little child.” Benrey waved at Gordon, holding out his hand for him to take it again.

Gordon was suddenly struck with a vision of a witch beckoning him to her gingerbread house. “You’re not gonna eat me, are you?”

“Friends don’t eat friends,” said Benrey. He flashed a reptilian smile. “Come along, please.”


	14. Wishes

Surrounded by trees transformed into sinister titans by darkness, the bobbing flashlight beam only illuminating his path a few feet ahead at a time, Gordon felt like he was in a horror game. He didn’t think there were any horror games where you held hands with the monster, though.

“Where are we going?”

“Calm down. Not gonna hurt you,” said Benrey.

“Kinda sounds like you _are_ gonna hurt me.”

“Bein’ a little chicken hat? Gonna go back? Feetman freakout compilation. Almost up to ten minutes, better for engagement.”

“Shut up.” Gordon didn’t let go. He felt an imperceptible squeeze on his hand.

They arrived at the makeshift lean-to. It was longer now, having been built out a bit more since the last time. A scrap of cloth tied to a stick - a raggedy little flag - hung over the entrance. Gordon glimpsed his borrowed blanket just inside. He was mystified to see it had been folded.

Benrey crawled inside, reappearing shortly after. He cradled something to his chest. Gordon could make out the shape of something flat and rectangular tucked under his hoodie.

“What is that?”

“Not here. Not yet.” Benrey jerked his head. “Come on.”

He held out his hand. Gordon took it without a second thought. His curiosity, he noted, was stronger than any hangups he might have.

They continued past the lean-to, further and further into the dark. It began to lift. Gordon could see the trees thinning out up ahead. Starlight returned, and with it a shimmering silver circle low to the ground. Was that a spotlight?

Benrey stopped short. Gordon saw they stood at the edge of a small drop. Below them were boulders, pebbles, gurgling black water —

“Oh. Oh wow.”

He and Benrey overlooked the lake. The “spotlight” that Gordon saw was the moon’s reflection on its glassy surface. He clicked off his flashlight. As his eyes adjusted to the dark, he could see the voiding silhouettes of the mountains beyond the lake. They appeared to eat the sky with their jagged edges.

Above him, the Milky Way made its encore performance. The view was even better here without any trees to box it in.

Gordon’s hand was released. Benrey sat down and dangled his feet over the edge.

“Look at the water,” he murmured. “Pretty cool, right?”

Gordon sat next to him. “Yeah, man. It is. When did you find this place?”

“Last night. You guys talk loud. Sometimes it’s a lot. So I took a walk.” Benrey took a deep breath. “It’s quiet here. S’nice.”

Gordon agreed with his own easy silence. The lake chuckled on the shore below them.

He heard a crinkle from beside him and looked. Benrey held a newspaper-and-cellophane-tape-wrapped package in his hand, the shape under his hoodie gone.

“I got you something. For your birthday.”

Gordon tripped over his response. “What? How did you—”

“Saw it on your passport.” Benrey shrugged. “Sorry it’s late. Had make sure you wanted it. That we were still, um. Friends.” He held the gift out to Gordon without looking at him. “Good job on staying alive so far. Don’t fuck it up.”

Gordon took it. Upon closer inspection, he could see cartoon stickers added to the outside. Tommy must have helped Benrey with the wrap job. It was pretty rough. Gordon still felt the need to carefully lift the tape, as he couldn’t bring himself to tear it.

Benrey took his flashlight from him and turned it on. “Wanna see your face when you open it. Open it, please? Open it, open it.”

“Benrey, this is… weird. Good weird,” Gordon quickly amended. “I’m not used to you acting this way, thank—”

Gordon’s smile dropped. He didn’t know what he was looking at.

He held a picture frame, that much was certain. A nice one, too. Benrey didn’t skimp. Inside the frame was an artistic rendering of himself and Benrey. They faced one another, clasping hands under an arch of white roses.

“What. Is this.”

“Fanart of our wedding, bro. I commissioned it.” Benrey beamed. He tapped the glass softly. “You looked so good in that suit. Mm. Reception was a bit shit.”

Gordon slowly turned his head toward Benrey, eyes wide. “What… the fuck-" Then what Benrey just said sunk in. “We— what? Benrey. We did _not_ get married!”

Benrey furrowed his brow. “Why’s there a picture of it, then?”

“Because someone _drew_ it? Because you _paid_ them to?! What kind of sick imagination…”

“If you can imagine something, then it’s happened.”

“If you— Wait." Gordon squinted at Benrey. “Is that… are you talking about multiverse theory?”

“Bummer your stupid monkey brain can’t see all the timelines. Lotta cool stuff happens in ‘em. You and me known each other for a long time. Told you back on Xen. Playin’ in the mud and the sand. It’s okay. I’ll remember for us.” Benrey patted Gordon’s head like a child. “Look at the picture. I dunno. Maybe… maybe you’ll remember, too. That’d be nice. It was a great, cool day.”

Gordon stared at the wedding picture. He looked back up at Benrey. His stomach sank when he saw his face. Benrey gazed at the drawing with a soft smile. Eyes half-lidded. Lost in the world caught within the frame.

“You weren’t bullshitting me?” Gordon said quietly.

Benrey blinked as if blinded by a sudden light. When he looked up at Gordon, his wistful expression was clouded by confusion. “Huh?”

“Benrey, you _knew_ me?”

“What?” Benrey looked around. His brows knitted together. “Where are we?”

“Wow, very smooth. Way to drive the conversation off a cliff.”

“Gordon?” Benrey’s gaze landed on him again. “What are we doing… oh, you got your hand back. Nice. Clumsy sewage boy not uhh, not good look on you.”

Gordon pulled back from him. “Okay what the fuck is this bit? I don’t get it.”

Benrey stared off into the lake. “… whuh?”

Gordon hesitated, then placed a hand on Benrey’s shoulder. “Yes… I got my hand back. We got out of Black Mesa. We’re in Mammoth now. We’re camping.”

Benrey’s eyes regained their focus. He sat up with a smile. “Ohhh, it’s that one. Nice. Got ‘em, uhhh, got it crossed for a second.” As Benrey took in surroundings, the picture in Gordon’s lap, he became a bit more somber. “Yeah. Cool. Thank you.”

“Uh, sure.” Gordon traced his fingers over the frame, allowing a corner dig into the pad of his thumb. “Thanks for the birthday gift.”

Benrey shrugged. He handed Gordon back his flashlight.

The silence was less easy this time. Gordon understood what was happening on an intellectual level. Apparently, Benrey could perceive the fourth dimension. If time was a box, then he saw it flattened out so that all six sides could be viewed at once. Simple enough to comprehend for Dr. Freeman, PhD in Theoretical Physics.

But for Gordon, friend to someone in distress? He couldn’t begin to imagine. How would he feel if he grew up with someone, had adventures, and fell in love (citation needed) over several simultaneous lifetimes? And that person couldn’t remember any of it?

Maybe he could imagine it. For three months, he’d lived in a kind of personal hell, questioning his own memory and sanity. He wished he could see what Benrey did. He doubted he would feel the same about these events as him. (Never, ever, ever, ever could Gordon see himself walking down the aisle— anyway.) At the very least, then he could confirm Benrey’s experience was real. A simple acknowledgment might be a comfort. It was for Gordon.

He settled for what he could see in this timeline, at this very moment.

“Hey. I think I saw a shooting star.”

Benrey looked up with puzzlement. “Oh what. Those are real? I thought it was just in Animal Crossing.”

Gordon laughed. “Yeah, keep looking. You can make a wish like in the game, too.”

“For star fragments?”

“Uhh. No. When you see one, just… think of something you want.”

Benrey chewed his lip, nodding. He focused intently on the sugar-dusted sky. Gordon smiled and turned his attention there, as well. They scanned the stars, waiting for a tiny blue streak to appear.

“There!” Gordon thrust a finger upward. “See it? Quick, make a wish! Think hard about it.”

“Fuckinnn shut up and I can.”

Gordon laughed but did. After a brief silence, he looked over at Benrey. His friend had his hands clasped to his forehead, eyes squeezed tight. His lips moved without making a sound. It looked like he was in prayer.

Gordon didn’t dare speak until Benrey finally opened his eyes. “Wow. That was some… pretty hard wishing right there.”

Benrey sniffed. “Was for somethin’ I really, really wanted.”

“Yeah? What?”

Gordon wondered if Benrey, with his deep love of procedure, was aware of wishing's cardinal rule, _Don’t tell someone or it won’t come true._ And yet, Benrey responded.

“8K scans of your feet.”

Gordon exclaimed in disgust. He shoved Benrey, who shot away from him and floated over the lake like a balloon. His levitating body spun as it drifted, head over heels, heels over head.

“Oh nooo,” he called back faintly. “Feetman killed meee.”

“Come back so I can hit you again,” Gordon laughed.

“Gonna go to heaven now. Byeee…”

Benrey drifted upwards. Gordon’s laugher petered out.

“Uh. Benrey?”

Gordon turned on his flashlight. But, wouldn’t you know it, a midnight blue hoodie made for very effective camouflage against a midnight sky. Benrey had been swallowed up by the stars from whence he came.

“Benrey?!” No response. “You led me here, you dick, I don’t know how to get back!”

Ever so faintly, over the water, Gordon heard: _“… sounds like a you problemmm…”_


	15. Nose Goes

Waking up the next morning was not easy.

First, Gordon’s legs still tickled and stung from the native flora he’d stumbled through last night. Benrey didn’t exactly cut a clear path between their camp and the lake. The flashlight helped him get back, but Gordon would have gladly swapped it for a machete.

Second, the moment he opened his eyes, a terrific growl ripped through his stomach. The last thing Gordon ate had been the two granola bars he packed for yesterday’s hike. He regretted taking Tommy’s word that the food for this trip was handled. (How could he know that “food” to the Science Team meant sugar, sugar, sugar?) Those bars had been the sum total of his emergency stash.

Third, when Gordon unzipped his tent, he caught whiff of something acrid on the breeze. The smell was familiar, and his body tensed when he recognized it.

Bubby stood next to the cold fire pit. He loomed over it, chin tucked into his heather-gray peacoat like a moody noir detective.

“Do you smell that?” Gordon asked him.

“And a very good morning to you, too,” Bubby responded flatly.

“Is someone shooting in the woods?”

“Shooting a feature film? If only. Maybe I could get discovered. My good looks are wasted on you jackanapes.”

Gordon had very little patience for Bubby when he got sassy like this, which was… Bubby most of the time.“I smell gunpowder.”

“Ohh, yes.” Bubby’s lenses flashed as he finally looked up. “That would be the fireworks.”

“From last night, really? We could still smell that?”

Coomer emerged from the tent behind Bubby. “The Independence Day revellers launched them into the wee hours, Gordon. I could hear it with my Super Hearing! I even detected a few pops this morning.”

“Dr. Coomer, there’s no more firewood,” Bubby whined.

“Oh dear. Would a kiss make it better?”

Bubby thought for a moment. “No,” he sighed.

“Still setting off fireworks… not in the national park, right? That shit would get shut down immediately. They must be in town.” Gordon wetted his dry lips with an even drier tongue. “God. I hate this stupid holiday. Like, who’s the genius that thought, yeah, let’s celebrate the end of a war by _simulating_ war. I could strangle— oh.”

Gordon was startled by small, wet kiss on his fingers. Sunkist had suddenly appeared beside him. She nudged his hand again until he placed it on her head. “Hey,” he said softly. “Hey, I’m okay…”

“Oh! Good morning, Mr. Freeman! We’re back from a walk!” Tommy stepped up to the other side of Gordon. A healthy flush filled his cheeks. His smile quirked into a puzzled frown as he reached toward Gordon’s head. “Why is your hair all… sticky?”

“What?” Gordon reached up. Sure enough, his hair was still tangled with evidence from last night’s misadventure. With sticks, specifically.

“Gordon, I’m hungry,” said Coomer.

Gordon undid his ponytail, leaned over, and shook out his hair. He was only making it worse. “Don’t you guys have any marshmallows left?”

“We ate them all last night,” Tommy sighed.

“But there wasn’t a fire last…” Gordon stood upright. He grimaced. “You ate marshmallows _raw?_ Gross!!”

“Marshmallows are ready to eat out of the bag, Gordon. They are a fully-prepared foodstuff.”

“But they’re spongy and… eurghh!” Gordon pounded one hand into the other for emphasis. “ _Cooking_ sets human beings apart from animals. If you don’t brown a marshmallow, there’s no artistry, no experience. It’s just an ungodly gob of sugar! Feral, that’s what it is. You guys are better than mindless, slobbering animals, right?”

The Science Team stared at Gordon, who leaned forward at them apishly, his long hair a mess of tangles and twigs.

“Gordon,” said Coomer, “I’m thirsty.”

“We drank all the soda, too, Mr. Freeman,” Tommy murmured apologetically.

Gordon inhaled deeply. He smoothed back his wild hair. “Okay. So… We have to make a run into town today. Can’t put it off like yesterday. Unless, you guys wanna eat shoe leather for our last dinner here?”

Bubby pushed down Coomer’s hand.

Gordon searched the ground until he found a satisfactory stick. He squatted down, using the sharp end to write in the dirt. “We need a plan to do this as fast and efficiently as possible. In and out.”

“Like a bank heist!”

“Yeah, Tommy. Just like a bank heist.” Gordon’s mouth twitched into a smile. “Let’s make a list. What do we need?”

“Soda!” the Science Team chorused.

Gordon nodded and wrote instead, “Water. What else?”

“Snacks!”

“Alright, good…”

“And more firewood!” said Bubby. “I want to end this with a proper inferno.”

Gordon added his request and _extinguisher?_ to the list.

“Great. Are we forgetting anything?”

Tommy spoke up. “We, we don’t know if Benrey wants something.”

“Oh.” Gordon scanned the tree line, squinting. “Yeah, where is Benrey?”

“Hey look up.”

Gordon did. He immediately ducked. “What the fuck!”

A foot above them, Benrey hovered facedown. His hands were stuffed in his pockets as if he casually stood on a normal, flat plane. Just rotated 90 degrees.

He grinned. “I’m an angel.”

“Yeah, a Biblical one. With a thousand eyes and a hundred ugly faces.” Gordon crossed his arms. “Thanks for last night, by the way.”

“ _Gordonnn._ Not in front of our friends.” Benrey turned away coquettishly.

The Science Team’s heads all snapped to look at Gordon. He blushed down to his toes.

“What happened last night?” Tommy asked innocently.

“Nothing,” said Gordon, and again when everyone still stared, “ _Nothing._ We got lost.”

“Yeah, in each other’s eyes.”

“Shut up, Benrey.”

Gordon rose to his feet and nudged Benrey aside like an intrusive party balloon. He stood back, surveying his list. “Okay, so… How did you guys want to do this? Go five ways on everything or—?”

When he looked up, everyone had a finger on their nose. Gordon just sighed.

“Right. I should have guessed. I’m basically the only adult here.” He held his hands outward, imploringly. “You guys could meet me halfway, at least. Can somebody drive?”

Bubby wrinkled his nose. “Mmm… it’s a long way…”

“You drove three hundred miles to get us here.”

The only response was some coughing and shuffling of feet. Gordon tried a different tack. He smiled warmly at his friends.

“C’mon, guys. It was three months since we saw each other last. Don’t you want to spend a little extra time with your buddy Gordon? Take a drive? Run a quick errand? I can make it fun.”

The Science Team and Benrey glanced at one another. In a rapid flurry, fingers shot to nose tips.

“Not it!!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, let’s try something. 
> 
> I’m working for a week straight and won’t be able to update until after. But I'd like to make the most of this hiatus.
> 
> Choose your own adventure. Who do you want to go into town with Gordon? I’ll write the next chapter with the top two picks: (the link is dead, long live the link)


	16. Detour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we’re BACK!
> 
> At the end of the last chapter, I included a poll for readers to choose two characters to go into town with Gordon.
> 
> And, well... if this is what the Internet wants…

How did it come to this?

Gordon grabbed the wheel and wrenched it toward him. Their car swerved out of the opposite lane, in time for another vehicle to whizz by with an angry honk.

“Stop trying to hit squirrels!!”

“They ought to know the rules of the road, Gordon. The designated squirrel crossing is only half a mile behind us.”

“Don’t you encourage this behavior!” Gordon twisted around, scowling.

Dr. Coomer blinked at him blithely from the backseat. “Aside from the brief spells of rodent-induced road rage, I think Sunkist is driving quite well.”

Sunkist whined. To be fair, she did have her paws at ten and two. She lacked the fingers to grasp the wheel, so instead she draped her big feet over it, contacting with her doggy “wrists,” so to speak. They drove down a two-lane road that snaked along the sheer mountain face, so Gordon couldn’t vouch for her ability to change lanes yet. Colorblindness posed a potential issue at the first traffic signal.

“Why is the dog driving again?”

“Well, she does have a license.”

Gordon sputtered. “You mean her _pet license?_ Why couldn’t you drive?”

“To be perfectly frank with you, Gordon, I anticipated the drive to be an extremely boring one. So I took some spice before we left. I am higher than Sputnik at the moment.”

“You… what—?”

Coomer’s head whipped to look out the window. “Did you see that?”

Gordon was too stunned to speak. He followed Coomer’s gaze, but saw nothing outside. Just the guard rail, the only thing that stood between them and a steep drop.

Coomer threw himself against the window with a thud. His breath fogged the glass as his eyes flicked back and forth. Something flew above them only he could see.

“What peculiar markings…” he murmured.

“I-I-I…” Gordon stared at his hands. “I should have driven.”

“Beggars can’t be choosers, Gordon. You asked for someone to drive.” Coomer’s voice was muffled by the glass. “If you wanted to drive all along, you should have said so before we left.”

“The car was rolling down the road! I had to run to catch up to you guys!”

“It did occur to me to tell Sunkist to engage the parking brake. But nobody likes a backseat driver.”

Gordon sat back, resigned. Sunkist was in fact... dear god, doing a good job behind the wheel. (Merely acknowledging that, Gordon felt himself take another step closer to madness.) Her tremendous size ensured her back legs reached the pedals without issue. Perhaps, in addition to immortality, flight, and the Sweet Voice, Tommy had created Sunkist with good road etiquette? Was a driving dog any more ridiculous than a room dedicated to slicing pita bread with lasers? It was all related to Black Mesa, the most ridiculous place to ever exist. 

“Lepidoptera, if I’m not mistaken,” Coomer muttered. He pointed at the sky through the windshield.

“Huh?” Gordon looked. Again, there was nothing there. But something on the road did catch his eye.

A black SUV headed the opposite way. As it came closer, he saw it wasn’t entirely black. It had white doors, emblazoned with the seal of California. And above the seal, above the words “highway patrol,” a dumbstruck CHP officer stared at them through her window.

Gordon was too far away to see (his imagination must have supplied it), but he swore he saw Sunkist’s grinning face reflected in the officer’s aviator shades.

“Oh fuck—"

“GUN IT, DOG!” shouted Coomer.

Gordon was forced back in his seat as the engine roared. The scenery outside became a blur. To his right, the uneven mountain face became a bubbling wall of stone. To his left, the pine trees under the guard rail churned like teeth in an industrial grinding machine. “No no no no!! Bad dog! Very bad dog!!”

A siren wailed behind them.

He tried to look, but Sunkist took the next turn too hard. Gordon collided with the passenger window. His face smushed against the glass like a specimen in a microscope slide.

“The chase begins!” Coomer hooted. In the rear view mirror, Gordon could see him twisted around to look out the back window. The patrol car, already rapidly falling behind, completed a squealing U-turn. Coomer faced forward. His eyes were demented.

“This is insane! We have to stop!”

“We can’t stop here. This is moth country!”

On the next turn, the car’s rear bumper collided with the guard rail. Sparks flew. Gordon couldn’t differentiate between the scream of metal and his own. Sunkist corrected and they bounced back onto the road.

A rush of wind filled the car. It swept Gordon’s hair into his eyes, turning all his flyaways into little stinging whips.

He looked back to see Coomer hanging out a rear window. The old man shook his fist at their pursuer and cackled, “You’ll never take us alive, copper!”

“You can take _me_ alive!” Gordon squeezed his eyes shut. He was going to be sick. “I think maybe, maybe yeah — jail wouldn’t be so bad.”

He felt Coomer’s fingers bite down painfully on his shoulder. “Now is not the time for cowardice, Gordon. Today, we make a stand!”

“Stand for what?! What are we standing for? Sheer lunacy??”

“We’ve been unfairly targeted by law enforcement. Flight was the most logical course of action. I pray that the choices we make here today shine a light on injustice. May they inspire others to stand up! Stand up for the most basic of rights!”

“What? What rights?”

Gordon opened his eyes. Coomer’s grinning, mustachioed face filled his vision. Red and blue lights cast a psychedelic halo around his fuzzy white hair.

“The right for dogs to drive!”

No more. No more air left to scream. Gordon could only open his mouth wide and make a pitiful whistling sound.

_“Grrr…”_

They both looked at Sunkist.

One lower fang pinned her upper lip, giving her a concentrated expression. Gordon and Coomer followed her rock-steady gaze.

Ahead of them lay a hairpin turn. Beyond the guard rail was nothing but the blue void of sky.

And perched on that guard rail was a squirrel.

Gordon found his voice. “Sunkist. No. Don’t—”

She gunned it.

There was nothing to do but hold on. Grabbing the wheel now would either send them careening into the mountain or off of it entirely. Gordon wildly scrambled for handholds.

“Stop! Heel! Stay!! BRAKE!!!”

Coomer bellowed, _“Tonight we dine in Valhalla!!”_

The squirrel had plenty of time to look up at the car that screamed toward it. It jumped off and scurried up the hairpin turn. Sunkist did not have enough time to follow.

They punched through the guard rail with ease.

Gordon had never driven a car off a cliff before. He expected it to be a wholly unique sensation. Once in a lifetime, you could say. Yet he was surprised to find it felt no different than cresting the first hill of a rollercoaster. The seatbelt bit into his chest and gut as he became weightless. Deliriously, Gordon had the impulse to raise his arms and laugh. He realized he was already doing so. Coomer laughed, too.

They laughed until the ground appeared over their hood.

For a split moment, Gordon saw a spiky burst of yellow and red like something out of a comic book. Or the signs of those fireworks stands they passed on the highway to get there.

Then everything turned gray.

\- WASTED -

Insert (1) PlayCoin **™** to continue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so. This was a very, very dumb joke.
> 
> The REAL chapter will be up after the weekend. Thanks for being good sports.
> 
> Oh! And Happy 1 Year Anniversary to HLVRAI! ☢️🎉


	17. Recalculating

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At the end of Chapter 15, I included a poll for readers to choose two characters to go into town with Gordon.
> 
> Here is the (true) result.

“Thank you for driving.”

Bubby sucked in air through his teeth, as if doing a favor for Gordon gave him dull, consistent pain. “Tommy drives like an old lady. If he took the damn car, we’d be waiting forever for the food to get back.”

“And for us to get back too, right? Your good friends?”

Silence. The engine started. “Let’s go already.”

Gordon had cobbled together a “disguise” to go into town, tucking his ponytail into the highlighter-colored baseball cap borrowed from Tommy. The MIT sweatshirt was a fairly obvious giveaway and therefore shucked, traded in for Coomer’s bulky leather jacket. The disguise was a paper-thin one. Gordon banked on it altering his profile just enough to not draw attention.

Bubby also, though unwillingly, swapped his eye-catching dapper wardrobe for a more dressed-down, slouchy look. The unfitted clothes he borrowed from everyone made him look deflated (in more ways than one.) Whatever passing resemblance he had to a certain, former presidential hopeful was especially strong now, but Gordon thought better than to mention it. Bubby had climbed into the driver’s seat with an utterly rancid mood that Gordon couldn’t explain.

Best to treat him with kid gloves then. He was doing Gordon a solid, after all. Even if it was only because he lost at the nose game.

 _Chunk!_ Bubby and Gordon both jumped. They hadn’t heard the rear passenger door open. Gordon twisted around.

“Wh— You?!”

“It’s me. What’s up?” Benrey clicked in his seatbelt, not bothering to look at Gordon.

“Are…” Gordon narrowed his eyes. “Are you wearing my shirt?”

Benrey did look up then. He touched gentle fingers to the collar of— yes— Gordon’s MIT sweatshirt. “Thought we were all swapping threads.”

“Not for _fun,_ Benrey. For keeping a low profile!”

Bubby drummed on the steering wheel. “Is he coming or not?”

Gordon made a vague hold on gesture. He saw Bubby scowl in his periphery. “We don’t need— you don’t need to come with us,” Gordon phrased carefully.

“Yeah? I do?” Benrey shook his head. “Gotta make sure you don’t steal?”

Bubby sighed. “We’re losing daylight. Can we save your lover’s quarrel until later?”

Ignore that. “I’m the one with the money,” Gordon reasoned. “I’m specifically going so we don’t have to steal.”

“Yeah but you’d do it for the thrill, huh? Got sticky fingers from bein’ a nasty sewage boy.”

“That’s rich coming from you, shirt thief. Take it off.”

Before Gordon could reach over, Bubby stomped on the gas, throwing everyone back in their seats.

“Here we gooooo!” Benrey howled.

“Jesus, Bubby! A little warning?!” Gordon grit his teeth. “Think I have whiplash!”

Bubby looked straight ahead at the dirt road. The car jostled them like jumping beans as he took each bump and furrow at street speed. “Announcement to all riders. If you can’t keep your limbs inside the car at all times, you don’t deserve them.”

“Whassat? Your neck hurt?” Benrey’s voice vibrated like he was talking into a fan. “I could give you a massage.”

Gordon felt a tickle on the nape of his neck. He tried to swat Benrey’s hand where it poked through the posts of his headrest, but it was already gone.

He sighed. “Okay then. Guess Benrey’s coming too.”

Gordon had been hoping for some peace on this drive. Even with Bubby’s storm cloud of a mood hanging over him— especially with that— he could have used the silence to think. His nocturnal return to camp had been dominated by fears of very real hazards like small cliffs or hungry animals. He had no time to process the philosophical bombshells dropped on him at the lake.

Benrey could perceive different timelines. _Allegedly._ How many, Gordon didn’t know, but Benrey’s sense of reality seemed about as grounded as a person playing Twister. Left hand multiverse red, right foot multiverse blue. It would certainly explain why he’d space out on occasion.

Then there was that other juicy tidbit. They were apparently _married_ in another universe. Why the _fuck_ would Benrey tell Gordon that? And in the form of a birthday gift no less?

Gordon glanced up at the rear view mirror. He could see Benrey bouncing in the backseat from their rough ride. Benrey met his gaze through the reflection. A wolfish grin creeped across his face. Gordon looked away with a furious flush.

 _Occam’s Razor, Dr. Freeman._ _The simplest answer is often the correct one. In this case, the simplest answer is…?_

It was all a joke. A classic Benny bit made, once again, at his expense. It was oh-so-funny the first time, Benrey tagged along for the sequel.

Maybe he didn’t need a whole trip to think it out, after all. Just a bumpy ride down a dirt road to shake something loose. But he was still trapped with people he had extremely mixed feelings about for the next fortyish minutes. Forty minutes to town, twenty hours to the Lambda lab. What difference was it, really? Gordon could survive this. He was happy to do so in silence.

“Gordon, where am I going?”

He turned toward Bubby. “Uh, forward?”

Bubby clucked his tongue. “You’re in the navigator’s seat. When I get to the main road, which way to I turn?”

“Oh. Yeah, hold on.” Gordon dug around in the compartment of the passenger door. He pulled out a spiral-bound, soft cover book that filled his entire lap. The front was severely foxed with age. Emblazoned on it was the golden state of California.

Bubby took his eyes off the road a moment. “The hell is that?”

“A road atlas.” Gordon ruffled the pages with his thumb. They gave off the nostalgic, mildewy smell of old paper. “My folks used one kinda like this for road trips. This was the only way to get around before GPS.” Gordon flashed a fond smile. “But you know, huh Bubby? This must bring back a ton of memories.”

Bubby's mouth opened, then shut. He cleared his throat. “I can see asphalt.”

“Uh. Right.” Gordon flipped to the atlas’s index—

“Turn right?!” “No, no! Just hold on.”

— and found the page number for the Inyo National Forest. He opened the atlas to that map, then traced his fingers along the numbered and lettered columns and rows…

Bubby groaned. “Jesus Christ. Just use your phone!”

“I don’t have it with me. I left it at the apartment.”

“Incredible.” Bubby shook his head. “I swear I’m the only one here with a brain. Do you have any idea what’s that like, having to depend on people who can’t take care of themselves?”

That was enough to make Gordon snap. “I left my phone behind because I thought G-Man would trace me. Call me paranoid, but the last time I didn’t take trackers seriously, I lost my goddamn hand!”

Bubby stomped the break pedal.

Everyone flew forward but him. The car slid across the dirt and gravel, bumper stopping just shy of the highway’s painted shoulder line.

“Oww-wuh,” Benrey whimpered. He rubbed his neck. “Now I need a massage.”

Gordon could feel a bruise starting to blossom where the seatbelt crossed his chest. “What the fuck, Bubby?”

Bubby stared ahead, white knuckling the wheel. “Will you _ever_ stop complaining?!”

“E— excuse me?”

“Fun, fucking camping times. Slappin’ each other on the ass. We’re all friends here. _Yes?”_

“Y-Yeah?!”

“I wouldn’t know! Snapping at us left and right. You only seem to remember all the times we’ve fucked up,” Bubby spat. “Either you keep throwing it in our face, or accept an apology and move on. You can’t have it both ways.”

“You never gave me an apology!”

“Why should I?! I thought I was doing the right thing!”

The atmosphere felt thick between them. Gordon could hear how heavily they both breathed.

Clothing rustled in the backseat. “Huh? What’s happening?” asked Benrey.

Bubby didn’t break his gaze. Or Gordon assumed he didn’t; it was difficult to see the eyes behind those thick lenses. “We’re talking about it, Benrey.”

“Whut?”

Bubby exhaled, nostrils flaring. “The betrayal.”


End file.
